irs, a table, a sofa,
some bamboo chairs and a piano--upstairs, two beds, two washstands,
and the rest. The garden consisted of two strips of wiry grass on each
side of the house; and a flight of steps ran down to the water's edge,
where a small sailing-boat was moored.

The landscape of high wooded hills was fading into evening across the
leaden ripples of the lake.

"What do you think of our highland home?" asked Reggie.

There was not a sign of life over the heavy waters, not a boat, not a
bird, not an island even.

"Not much doing," commented Geoffrey, "but the air's good."

"Not quite like a lake, it is?" his host reflected.

That was true. A lake had always appealed to Geoffrey, both to his
sense of natural beauty and to his instinct for sport. There is a
soothing influence in the imprisoned waters, the romance of the sea
without its restlessness and fury. The freshness of untrodden islands,
the possibilities of a world beneath the waters, of half-perceived
Venetas, the adventure of entrusting oneself and one's fortunes to a
few planks of wood, are delights which the lake-lover knows well. He
knows too, the delicious sense of detachment from the shore--the shore
of ordinary affairs and monotonous people--and the charm of unfamiliar
lights and colours and reflections. Even on the Serpentine he can find
this glamour, when the birds are flocking to roost in the trees of
Peter Pan's island.

But on this lake of Chuzenji there was a sullen brooding, an absence
of life, a suggestion of tragedy.

"It isn't a lake," explained Reggie; "it's the crater of an old
volcano which has filled up with water. It is one of the earth's
pockmarks healed over and forgotten. But there is something lunar
about it still, some memory of burned out passions, something creepy
in spite of the beauty of the place. It is too dark this evening to
see how beautiful it is. In places the lake is unfathomably deep, and
people have fallen into the water and have never been seen again."

The waters were almost blue now, a deep dull greyish blue.

Suddenly, away to the left, lines of silver streaked the surface; and,
with a clapping and dripping commotion, a flight of white geese rose.
They had been dozing under the bank, and some one had disturbed them.
A pale figure like a little flame was dimly discernible.

"It's Yae!" cried Reggie; and he made a noise which was supposed to be
a _jodel_ The white figure waved an answer.

Reggie picke