interlacing overhead, formed an arabesqued roof, through the openings of
which the afternoon sunshine sifted, as if through stained glass. With
the slender stems of the trees rising on each side in the semi-twilight,
the grove was like the transept of a cathedral. It seemed a profanation
to speak in such a place. Lynde could have wandered on forever in
contented silence, with that tall, pliant figure in its severely cut
drapery moving before him. As he watched the pure outline defining
itself against the subdued light, he was reminded of a colored bas-
relief he had seen on a certain Egyptian vase in the Museum at Naples.
Presently the path widened, a brook babbled somewhere ahead among the
rocks, and the grove abruptly ended. As Lynde stepped to Miss Denham's
side he heaved a deep, involuntary sigh.

"What a sigh, Mr. Lynde!" she cried, swiftly turning upon him with a
surprised smile. "It was scarcely complimentary."

"It was not exactly a compliment; it was an unpremeditated monody on the
death of this day, which has flown too soon."

"You are very ready with your monody; it yet lacks three or four hours
of sunset, when one might probably begin to lament. I am enjoying it all
too much to have a regret."

"Do you know, I thought you were not enjoying it--the journey, I mean?
You have not spoken a hundred words since we left Geneva."

"That was a proof of my perfect enjoyment, as you would know if you knew
me better. Fine scenery always affects me like music, and, with Jessica,
'I am never merry when I hear sweet music.' Besides, Mr. Lynde, I was
forming a plan."