It was low, the island, and it shone before us silver and green, and the trees moved gently in a wind more sweet, we thought, than any Andalusian zephyr.

Pedro Gutierrez stared.
"Paradise--Paradise!" It was not what we had looked for, but it was good enough.

It seemed divine, that morning! Nearer we drew, nearer.

The beach was now bare.

We made out the dark, naked folk at edge of the wood, in tree shadows, watching us.