They stood side by side, within a yard of each other, in silent
contemplation of these things, during I don't know how many long and,
for John, delicious seconds. Yes, he owned it to himself; it was
delicious to feel her standing there beside him, in silent communion
with him, contemplating the same things, enjoying the same
pleasantnesses. Companionship--companionship: it was what he had been
unconsciously needing all along! ... At last she turned, and,
withdrawing her eyes lingeringly from the landscape, looked into his,
with a smile. She did not speak, but her smile said, just as explicitly
as her lips could have done, "What a scene of beauty!"

And John responded aloud, with fervour, "Indeed, indeed it is."

"And so romantic," she added. "It is like a scene out of some old high
musical romance."

"The most romantic scene I know," said he. "All my life I have thought
so."

"Oh?" said she, looking surprise. "Have you known it all your life?"

"Well,--very nearly," said he, with half a laugh. "I saw it first when I
was ten. Then for long years I lost it,--and only recovered it, by
accident, a month ago."

Her face showed her interest. "Oh? How was that? How did it happen?"

"When I was ten," John recounted, half laughing again, "I was travelling
with my father, and, among the many places we visited, one seemed to me
a very vision of romance made real. A vast and stately castle, in a