opalescent mist. Green, pink, and other pale col-
ors gleamed as behind a thin layer of crystal.
Where the sun shone through a low white cloud
upon a distant slope there might have been a great
globe of iridescent glass illuminated within. The
water was a light, soft, filmy yet translucent blue.
Concha gazed with parted lips.

"I never knew before how wonderful it was,"
she murmured. "I have been taught to believe that
only the south is beautiful, and when we had to
come here again from Santa Barbara it was exile.
But now I am glad I was born in the north."

"I have watched the light on these hills and
islands, and what I could see of the fine lines of the
mountains ever since I came, and were there but
villas and castles, these waters would be far more
beautiful than the Lake of Como or the Bay of
Naples. But I am glad to see trees again. From
our anchorage I had but a bare glimpse of two or
three. They seem to hide from the western winds.
Are they so strong, then?"

"We have terrible winds, senor. I do not wonder
the trees crouch to the east. But I must tell you
our names." She pointed to the largest of the
islands, a great bare mass that looked as had it been,
when viscid, flung out in long folds from a central
peak, concaving here and there with its own weight.