And as he stood, grasping his sword, prepared, and looking quickly right and left, suddenly he saw a thing which rivetted his gaze to it, as if with an iron nail.

A little way off, among the poppies, was standing up like a lonely column all that was left of one of the walls of a ruined temple, whose fallen pillars were lying scattered all around it, half concealed by creeping leaves.  And as he gazed intently at this upright fragment of a fallen wall, he saw upon it the image of a sculptured woman, which stood out so distinctly that he could not take his eyes from it.  And after a while, he said to himself:  Surely that can be no stone statue, but a real woman of flesh and blood, actually leaning, who knows why, against that bit of a broken wall.  And he looked and looked, and after a while, filled with irresistible curiosity, he went nearer, but very slowly, and as it were on his guard, to see.

So as he gazed, wonder and admiration gradually crept into his soul, and stole his recollection unaware.  And he became wholly intent on the stone image, and forgetful of his situation.  And he ceased to wonder at finding himself in the wood, so great was his new wonder at the beauty of the woman on the wall.  And he said to himself:  Surely he was a master artist, whoever he was, that made this woman out of stone, if stone indeed she be.  For even now, near as I am, I can hardly believe she is made of stone.

And the more he looked, the more he marvelled.  For she seemed in his eyes like a frozen mass of lunar camphor, moulded into a female form, standing cold and pure and still, alone by herself in that strange half light, that hovered as it were irresolute between the natures of night and day.  And she stood with her right hand on her hip, which jutted out to receive it like the curve of a breaking wave:  and her bare right breast stood out and shone like a great moonlit sea pearl, while the other was hiding behind the curling fold of the pale green garment that ran around her, embracing her with clinging clasp like a winding wisp of emerald foam fondly wrapping the yielding waist of Wishnu’s sea-born wife.  And she was very tall, and shaped like Shri, and she stood with her head a little bent, and her sightless eyes fixed as it were on empty space, just as though she were listening for some expected sound.  And as he continued to gaze at her, a wonder that was almost horror crept into his mind.  For her face was not like that of an image, but rather resembled a mask, or the face of a very beautiful woman, that very moment dead.  For the colour seemed as it were to have only just faded from her cheek, and the blood seemed only just before to have left her pallid lips, and the sight was as it were hanging yet in her great long open eyes, that were fixed on the distant sky.  And he stood, gazing, as if the very sight of her had made of him another image like herself.

And then, at last, he stepped forward.  And he put out his left hand, and touched her with his forefinger on the shoulder that was bare.