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Where shall we
go?"
"To the Grotto of Virgil."
"I wonder if Virgil was ever in his grotto? I wonder if he ever came
here on such a day of scirocco as this, and felt that the world was
very old, and he was even older than the world?"
"Do you feel like that to-day?"
"I feel that this is a world suitable for the old, for those who have
white hairs to accord with the white waters, and whose nights are the
white nights of age."
"Was that why you were smiling so strangely just now when I came in?"
"Yes."
He rowed on softly. The boat slipped out of the Pool of the Saint, and
then they saw the Capo Coroglio and the Island of Nisida with its
fort. On their right, and close to them, rose the weary-looking
cliffs, honey-combed with caverns, and seamed with fissures as an old
and haggard face is seamed with wrinkles that tell of many cares.
"Here is the grotto," said Hermione, almost directly. "Row in gently."
He obeyed her and turned the boat, sending it in under the mighty roof
of rock.


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