CHAPTER XXXVI
THE CURSE OF THE GOLD
They journeyed over the divide as fast as the tired girl could travel, but when they reached the bridge over the gorge, the sun had set. In the west two scarfs, one of pink and one of saffron, floated away after his passing, and the gold seemed to ripple up from the underworld, like the reflection of the gleaming treasure under the dark lid.
But above them all was black. The smoke over Cone Mountain, looming up like a vast umbrella, covered half of the island.
She pointed at the harbour.
"See those lights!"
Upon the tips of the yards, and topmasts, all over the ship, burned little lights like flickering souls.
"I never saw the sun do that before."
"It is not the sun, my dear Mademoiselle. It is St. Elmo's Fire, and it always comes, like the moons, before the mountain does its worst. The people of the Caribbees say they are tapers of the sea—a wake for those that will be lost. And look, Mademoiselle, there are the lost souls themselves, above the mountain."
And there they were, the seven moons, swimming through
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