anchor, and over the surface of the Beautiful Sea no laughing ripples
ran to play on the pebbly beach.

The Pilgrim arose from his couch, and, going to the open window, looked,
and there, in the still, fathomless, depth of the clear water, he saw as
in a crystal glass the wonderful city Daybyday with its canals and
harbors, its parks and drives, its groves and gardens, its palaces and
temples.

Then, even as the Pilgrim looked, quickly the Evening Wind sprang up.
Again the tall trees rustled their leaves, the cloud ships lifted their
anchors, the waves of the Beautiful Sea ran joyously; the Vision in the
Deeps Beneath was gone.

* * * * *


AND THE SECOND VOICE WAS THE VOICE OF THE EVENING WIND


[Illustration: And the Second Voice was
The Voice of the Evening Wind (see king006.png)]

It was early twilight when the Pilgrim in The Quiet Room returned to his
couch and to his meditations.

Without the Temple, the last of the day was stealing over the rim of the
world into the mysterious realm of the yesterdays. The feathery cloud
ships no longer floated white in the depth of blue, but with wide flung
sails of rose and crimson swept over an ocean of amethyst and gold. The