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Martin, following its flight, had his eyes quite dazzled by the
intense glitter of the False Water, which now seemed to be only a
few yards from him: but the strangest thing was that in it there
appeared a form--a bright beautiful form that vanished when he gazed
steadily at it. Again he got up and began running harder than ever
after the flying mocking Mirage, and every time he stopped he
fancied that he could see the figure again, sometimes like a pale
blue shadow on the brightness; sometimes shining with its own
excessive light, and sometimes only seen in outline, like a figure
graved on glass, and always vanishing when looked at steadily.
Perhaps that white water-like glitter of the Mirage was like a
looking-glass, and he was only chasing his own reflection. I cannot
say, but there it was, always before him, a face as of a beautiful
boy, with tumbled hair and laughing lips, its figure clothed in a
fluttering dress of lights and shadows. It also seemed to beckon to
him with its hand, and encourage him to run on after it with its
bright merry glances.

[Illustration: ]

At length when it was past the hour of noon, Martin sat down under a
small bush that gave just shade enough to cover him and none to spare.
It was only a little spot of shade like an island in a sea of heat
and brightness. He was too hot and tired to run more, too tired even
to keep his eyes open, and so, propping his back against the stem of
the small bush, he closed his tired hot eyes.