hearers felt as if no sunshine ought to fall upon a spot where human
grief had left so deep a stain; or, at least, that no joyous Temple
should be built there.

"This is very sad," said the Lily; sighing.

"Well, there are lovelier spots than this," said Adam Forrester,
soothingly,--"spots which sorrow has not blighted."

So they hastened away, and the melancholy Gascoigne followed them,
looking as if he had gathered up all the gloom of the deserted spot,
and was hearing it as a burden of inestimable treasure. But still
they rambled on, and soon found themselves in a rocky dell, through
the midst of which ran a streamlet, with ripple, and foam, and a
continual voice of inarticulate joy. It was a wild retreat, walled on
either side with gray precipices, which would have frowned somewhat
too sternly, had not a profusion of green shrubbery rooted itself into
their crevices, and wreathed gladsome foliage around their solemn
brows. But the chief joy of the dell was in the little stream, which
seemed like the presence of a blissful child, with nothing earthly to
do save to babble merrily and disport itself, and make every living
soul its playfellow, and throw the sunny gleams of its spirit upon
all.

"Here, here is the spot!" cried the two lovers with one voice, as they
reached a level space on the brink of a small cascade. "This glen was
made on purpose for our Temple!"

"And the glad song of the brook will be always in our ears," said
Lilias Fay.