or seven pounds. Why not here? We aren't held
down by any map!"

They laughed at the pleasant enormity of the idea and were hurrying
on when Akko, behind them, broke his settled silence.

"In America," he said, "a man feels like a mountain. Here he feels
like a man."

"What do you mean by that?" demanded St. George uneasily. But Akko
said no more, and St. George and Amory, with a disquieting idea that
each was laughing at the other, let the matter drop.

From there on the way was easier, leveling occasionally, frequently
swelling to gentle ridges, and at last winding up a steep trail that
was not difficult to keep in spite of the fast falling night. And at
length Jarvo, rounding a huge hummock where converging ridges met,
scrambled over the last of these and threw himself on the ground.

"Now," he said simply.

The two men stood beside him and looked down. It seemed to St.
George that they looked not at all upon a prospect but upon the
sudden memory of a place about which he might have dreamed often and
often and, waking, had not been able to remember, though its
familiarity had continued insistently to beat at his heart; or that
in what was spread before him lay the satisfaction of Burne-Jones'
wistful definition of a picture: "... a beautiful, romantic dream of
something that never was, never will be, in a light better than any
light that ever shone, in a land no one can define or remember, only
desire..." yet it was to St. George as if he had reached no strange
land, no alien conditions; but rather that he had come home. It was
like a home-coming in which nothing is changed, none of the little
improvements has been made which we resent because no one has
thought to tell us of them; but where everything is even more as one
remembers than one knew that one remembered.

[Illustration]

At his feet lay a pleasant valley filled with the purple of deep
twilight. Far below a lagoon caught the late light and spread it in
a pattern among hidden green. In the midst of the valley towered the
mountain whose summit, royally crowned by shining towers, had been
visible from the open sea. At its feet, glittering in the abundant
light shed upon its white wall and dome and pinnacle, stood Med, the
King's City--but its light was not the light of the day, for that
was gone; nor of the moon, not risen; and no false lights vexed the
dark. Yet he was looking into a cup of light, as clear as the light
in a gazing-crystal and of a