r famous
wreck around here? Oh, yes; the castle! I remember now that she said she
was going to paint the castle to-day. Somebody ought to paint it. I
understand it hasn't been painted for more than eight hundred years."

His roar of laughter sounded like old Woodvale days.

"What's your hurry?" he asked. "Tell you what let's do! I'll fit you out
with a set of clubs and we'll play a few holes on the second course.
Then we'll go to the hotel, talk over the news with the women folks, and
this afternoon we'll drag Carter away from his bride, and you and he can
play Tom Morris and me a foursome! How does that strike you?"

"I cannot play this forenoon," I promptly said. "I must attend to my
luggage, shave, write some letters, send telegrams and--and do a lot of
things."

"How about this afternoon?" he asked. "We start at three o'clock."

"I'll be on hand," I promised, desperately.

"All right, and don't fail," he cautioned me. "You would not believe it,
Smith, but I have got so that I can line 'em out from one hundred and--"

I turned and left him with those unknown yards poised on his lips. When
at a safe distance I looked back and saw him gazing at me with an
attitude and expression of dumb wonder.

I retained the services of a red-headed and freckled-faced boy who was
confident he could direct me to the ruins of the old castle. It was not
a long walk, and when he pointed them out in the distance I gladdened
his heart and brought a grin to his tanned face by giving him a
half-crown as I dismissed him.

I was within sight of my fate! My steps faltered as I neared the grim
arches, and once I stopped and tried to plan how I should act and what I
should say. But I could think of nothing, and mustering all my courage
and invoking the god of luck, I went on.

In a few minutes I stood within the shadow of the gray and crumbling
walls, undecided which way to turn. Picking my way over fallen masonry,
I turned the corner of a huge pile which seemed as if it might crash to
earth at any moment.

And then I saw her!

She was seated at an easel, a small canvas in front of her. Her hat was
lying on a rock near by, and the breeze had toyingiy disarranged the
dark tresses of her hair.

She was looking out over the ocean, a brush idly poised in her hand. I
saw the profile of her sweet face as I stood motionless for an instant,
not five yards away.

"Grace!" I softly said.

That easel with its unfinished canvas was tipped