* * * *

At three o'clock he gave his horse to Abe, was told that the lady of the
manor was out walking, and went into the house. He had a fancy to meet
her again in the room that harbored the sweetest of his California
memories. It was dark and cool. Only one window, looking upon the
garden, was open. Beside it was a comfortable chair which he took
possession of and looked out into the wild old garden so different from
the excessively cultivated plots of Rosewater and his own meagre strips.
There was no veranda on this side of the house, and the great
acacia-tree, with its weight of fragrant gold, was but a few feet from
the window. The entire garden was enclosed by a hedge of the Castilian
roses of which he had heard so much, rare as they now were in
California. The dull green leaves and tight little buds could hardly be
seen for the mass of wide fluted roses of a deep old-fashioned pink. And
there were large irregular borders covered with the luxuriant green and
the blue stars of the periwinkle, beds of marguerites and violets,
bushes of lilac and honeysuckles, roses and jasmine. The blended
perfumes were overpowering, however delicious; Gwynne had sat up half
the night before talking to his mother after a long hot journey; he fell
asleep.

Perhaps it was his late conversation, perhaps something more subtle, but
he felt himself transported to a void. In a moment he realized that the
void was not space as he knew it, but rigid invisible substance. He
slipped along through rocky strata, hearing strange echoes and inhaling
the disagreeable odors of healing waters. Suddenly he found himself in a
vast hollowed space, empty but for many pillars. His vision grew keener.
In the very centre of the hall he saw two pillars of a colossal size,
and standing between them a being almost as large. This unthinkable
giant had an arm about each pillar and strained as Samson had strained
at the pillars of the temple. Then a new and powerful force drew him
upward once more, and he awoke.

He turned his head towards the dim interior of the room and for a dazed
moment thought that he beheld Spring herself. She wore white and had
dropped a mass of wild flowers at her feet; she looked as if rising out
of them. Her hat was covered with poppies and wild azalea, and she had a
sheaf of buttercups and "blue eyes" in her belt.

"I haven't changed my ideas one bit," she said, with a shrug, as Gwynne
rose and came towards