you go. I assure you, it would be rather uninteresting sight-seeing
without your presence, if not always in person, then in spirit. After
all, much depends on the condition of the eyes with which one looks on
an object whether it is interesting or not."

Then the talk led to personal matters. He spoke of his experiences in
Utah--some of them--and she fold him her simple life's story. Her mother
had died many years ago; she had no very distinct recollection of her.
She and her father had lived with housekeepers for many years. What with
school and home, the one trip before to Europe, a number of excursions
to various parts of her own country, her life had passed very smoothly
and very quietly among her friends and books. As Chester listened to her
he thought how like in some respects her story was to that of Julia
Elston's. And as she sat there under the trees, she again looked like
Julia, yet with a difference. Somehow the first girl had vanished but
she had left behind in his heart a susceptibility to a form and face
like this one beside him. Julia had come into his heart, not to dwell
there, but to purify it, adorn it, and to make it ready for someone
else;--and that other person had come. She filled the sanctuary of his
heart. Peace and love beyond the telling were inmates with her. Had he
not come to his own at last.

That afternoon, as he sat with Lucy under the trees at Blarney,
listening to her story, told in simplicity with eyes alternating between
smiles and tears, he felt so near heaven that his prayers went easily
ahead of him to the throne of mercy and love, bearing a message of
praise and gratitude to the Giver of all good.

These two were quite alone that afternoon. Even the care-taker went
within the thick walls of the castle, remembering, perhaps, that she