illusions. In the open air, against the dark background of the horizon,
I can show you the luminous dots planewise of the Impressionists; or I
can give you the broad, sabrelike brushwork of Velasquez, or the
imperial tintings of Titian. I can paint pictures on the sky. I can
produce blazing symphonies. I will prove to you that colour is also
music. This sounds as if I were a victim to that lesion of the brain
called 'coloured-audition.' Perhaps! Not Helmholtz or Chevreul can tell
me anything new in the science of optics. I am the possessor of the
rainbow secrets--for somewhere in Iceland, a runic legend runs, there is
a region vast as night, where all the rainbows--worn out or to be
used--drift about in their vapoury limbo. I have the key to this land of
dreams. Over the earth I shall float my rainbows of art like a flock of
angels. With them I propose to dazzle the eyes of mankind, to arouse
sleeping souls. From the chords of the combined arts I shall extort
nobler cadences, nobler rhythms, for men to live by, for men to die
for!"

Shannon was impressed. Through the smoke of his host's discourse he
discovered genuine fire. The philosopher took his hand and led him to
the window.

"Stand there a moment!" he adjured. Mila joined him and after turning
the lamp to a pin-head of light, their shoulders touching--for the
window was narrow--they peered into the night. They were on the side of
the water. Suddenly Gerald exclaimed:--

"What's that light out at sea--far out? It looks like the moon!"

"It is the sun," coolly replied his companion. They saw arise from the
waters a majestic, glowing sphere of light, apparently the size of the