Above all, she had ever before her the words which Austin had told her comprised the sermon of the universe—­“Thy will be done!” Was it possible that, in the days when miracles were yet wrought, such a prayer at such a time from such a saint should not be heard?  Some three hours had passed after noon when she felt a sweet languor overspread her.  A mist crept before her eyes, which quickly passed away and was replaced by a radiance brighter than the sun’s rays; her eyes had power however to look aloft, and she gazed with clasped hands and with loving reverence:  the Holy Virgin herself stood before her, holding in her arms the Blessed Infant; the Mother looking down with a smile inexpressibly tender and compassionate, the Child stretching forth its dimpled hand and giving its blessing.  She sank in rapture, the glory too great for her.  As the vision faded she arose, a marvellous strength possessing her.  She stepped forth, and found herself in the midst of a crowd gazing, horror-stricken, seawards.  “Fear nothing,” she said with a calm expression that seemed to permeate the whole assembly like an inner voice; “he is saved, and you are saved!” The words came opportunely.

CHAPTER VII.

Annihilation.

    “Prophet-like that lone one stood,
      With dauntless words and high,
    That shook the sere leaves from the wood
      As if a storm pass’d by.”

    The Last Man.—­Campbell.

    “So perish the old Gods! 
    But out of the sea of time
    Rises a new land of song,
    Fairer than the old.”

    The Seaside and the Fireside.—­Longfellow.

Full of evil augury was the morning of this eventful day in Vazon Forest.  There were the same trees, the same glades and streams, as on the well-remembered Midsummer day of the preceding year; but nature and man alike were in a different mood.  The trees were leafless and churlish, the glades ragged and colourless; the turbid, dusky streams bore but small resemblance to the limpid rivulets of June; the native youths were absent, engaged in military service; the maidens, headed by Suzanne Falla, had indeed an appearance of mirth, but there was a hollow ring in the boisterous recklessness of their merriment; the old men tramped feebly and aimlessly, for the reverence for age had been transferred to the veterans of the conquerors.  The latter also supplied the musicians; and the clanging of drums and cymbals, with the blast of horns, replaced the sylvan melody of the aborigines.

Still there was every sign of festivity.  The proceedings began with dances in which the men, who posed as athletes and warriors, gave representations of deeds of martial prowess.  Then the girls were allowed to foot their native dances in their own fashion.  Dances for both sexes followed, in which the native maidens found it difficult to conceal their terror of the rough partners ever ready to become rougher wooers.