A glory of light enveloped the dancers, black twigs whirled in mellow flame, as they turned and promenaded in the dance. The lambent light coruscated on the surface of the sea. It fell, full and golden, on the western faces of the bergs; glazed with a sheen of rich egg yolks, or glowing richest cadmium orange, or buttery primrose, or a far-off coppery wash, undershot with the glimmer of ice. Berg after berg, aloof on a golden sea.

The prodigality overwhelmed him. Sitting there on his little hill, he was illuminated, and blinded too, by something inexpressible, a core of beauty he could never come at. He could never lay hold of the splendour he saw.