three and is talking of another."

"You mean to say that they can have as many wives as they choose?"
demanded Saunders, wrinkling his brow.

"Yes, just so long as they don't choose anybody else's."

Saunders was buried in thought for a long time, then he exclaimed,
unconsciously aloud:

"My word!"

"Eh?" queried Bowles, arousing himself.

"I didn't say anything," retorted Saunders, looking up into the tree
tops.

In the course of an hour--a soft, sleepy hour, too, despite the wondrous
novelty of the scene and the situation--the travellers came into view of
the now famous château.

Standing out against the sky, fully a mile ahead, was the home to which
they were coming. The château, beautiful as a picture, lifted itself
like a dream castle above all that was earthly and sordid; it smiled
down from its lofty terrace and glistened in the sunset glow, like the
jewel that had been its godmother. Long and low, scolloped by its
gables, parapets and budding towers, the vast building gleamed red
against the blue sky from one point of view and still redder against the
green mountain from another. Soft, rich reds--not the red of blood, but
of the unpolished ruby--seemed to melt softly in the eye as one gazed