Faint as illusion, a wail, a thin-spun thread of sorrow, broke into lonely whimpering, and ceased.

He moved forward, doubtfully, and of a sudden, in the scrubby level of the isle, stumbled on the rim of a shallow circular depression.
At first, he could not believe the discovery; but next instant--as at the temple pond, though now without need of placard or interpreter--he understood.

This bowl, a tiny crater among the weeds, showed like some paltry valley of Ezekiel, a charnel place of Herod's innocents, the battlefield of some babes' crusade.

A chill struck him, not from the water or the early mists.

In stupor, he viewed that savage fact.
Through the stillness of death sounded again the note of living discontent.