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Rh undulating shores of the Isle of Wight, whose verdant meadows came down almost to the strand. The trees were leafless, but the sunshine played upon their branches; behind them the sea was clear and dark, but before them it was like fire, for the winding of the creek brought the bay directly below the setting sun, with whose glory the whole west was kindled; it was too bright to look upon,—a glory like the track of passing angels. The vapours of the morning had melted away into a soft and golden haze, which bathed all things in its genial hue.

"Can this be winter?" asked Guido.

"I hope so," said Francesca, answering to her own thoughts; for, unaware of our uncertain clime, she relied on its benefit to Guido.

The radiance now began to mellow; a large cloud, which had been slowly floating up, crossed the burning centre; it melted, but into a rich crimson; the reddening tints spread rapidly, softening as they receded from the round orb that now seemed to rest on the waters; the light became coloured; many small white clouds rose flitting from afar, and each as they approached caught a tinge of pink. The sun sunk below the waters, which glowed with his descent; but, almost unperceived, a purple shadow fell on the