their anticipated pleasures were dearer than this sport of fantasy.

"Yes," said Adam Forrester, "we might seek all day, and find no
lovelier spot. We will build our Temple here."

But their sad old companion, who had taken his stand on the very site
which they proposed to cover with a marble floor, shook his head and
frowned; and the young man and the Lily deemed it almost enough to
blight the spot, and desecrate it for their airy Temple, that his
dismal figure had thrown its shadow there. He pointed to some
scattered stones, the remnants of a former structure, and to flowers
such as young girls delight to nurse in their gardens, but which had
now relapsed into the wild simplicity of nature.

"Not here!" cried old Walter Gascoigne. "Here, long ago, other
mortals built their Temple of Happiness. Seek another site for
yours!"

"What!" exclaimed Lilias Fay. "Have any ever planned such a Temple,
save ourselves?"

"Poor child!" said her gloomy kinsman. "In one shape or other, every
mortal has dreamed your dream."

Then he told the lovers, how--not, indeed, an antique Temple--but a
dwelling had once stood there, and that a dark-clad guest had dwelt
among its inmates, sitting forever at the fireside, and poisoning all
their household mirth. Under this type, Adam Forrester and Lilias saw
that the old man spake of Sorrow. He told of nothing that might not
be recorded in the history of almost every household; and yet his