Thoughtfully and for some time the Breton gazed at those before him, without anger or wonder or pain. Then he looked down in the face upturned to his, where eyes were full of laughter and delight, where lips smiled and murmured and caressed.
Her little hands tightened around his neck and drew his head down until their lips met.
Darkness was falling. The fog coming in from the sea scudded low down on the river and its veil was being drawn over multitude and water. All distant were hid in it other than upon the bund’s edge, where still stood a darkened figure.
Suddenly the Deluge began to move.
Night had fallen: from its shadows came only the crunch of that remorseless flood as it moved onward—back into those abysses whence it had come forth—the Night of Time, the Heart of Man.
THE END
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES
- The Latin has been transcribed as printed.
- Silently corrected typographical errors.
- Retained anachronistic and non-standard spellings as printed.