that starless midnight, there stole from out the darkness, the iris flag of hautia.

again the sirens came. they bore a large and stately urn-like flower, white as alabaster, and glowing, as if lit up within. from its calyx, flame-like, trembled forked and crimson stamens, burning with intensest odors.

the phantoms nearer came; their flower, as an urn of burning niter. then it changed, and glowed like persian dawns; or passive, was shot over by palest lightnings;—so variable its tints.

"the night-blowing cereus!" said yoomy, shuddering, "that never blows in sun-light; that blows but once; and blows but for an hour.—for the last time i come; now, in your midnight of despair, and promise you this glory. take heed! short time hast thou to pause; through me, perhaps, thy yillah may be found."

"away! away! tempt me not by that, enchantress! hautia! i know thee not; i fear thee not; but instinct makes me hate thee. away! my eyes are frozen shut; i will not be tempted more."

"how glorious it burns!" cried media. i reel with incense:—can such sweets be evil?"

"look! look!" cried yoomy, "its petals wane, and creep; one moment more, and the night-flower shuts up forever the last, last hope of yillah!"

"yillah! yillah! yillah!" bayed three vengeful voices far behind.

"yillah! yillah!—dash the urn! i follow, hautia! though thy lure be death."

the cereus closed; and in a mist the siren prow went on before; we, following.

when day dawned, three radiant pilot-fish swam in advance: three ravenous sharks astern.

and, full before us, rose the isle of hautia.