To cherish the ideal of a man with whom to walk on her way through life is as right for a woman as it was for God to make them male and female. It is not the building of castles in the steepest heights of air that is to be blamed, but the building of such as inspector conscience is not invited to enter. And if occasionally Hester did indulge in such along the lines of the natural architecture of most young maidens, and if through these airy castles went flitting the form of Vavasor, who will wonder?

One evening, toward the end of July, when the summer is at its heat and makes the world feel as if there had never been and never ought to be anything but summer, Hester was sitting under a fir tree on the gathered leaves of numberless years, pine odours filling the air around her, as if they, too, stole out with the things of the night when the sun was gone. The sweet melancholy of the hour moved her spirit. So close was her heart to nature that when alone with it, she seldom longed for her piano. She had the music and did not need to hear it. When we are very near to God, we do not desire the Bible. When we feel far from him, we may well make haste to it. Most people, I fear, wait till they are inclined to seek him. They do not stir themselves up to lay hold on God. They breathe the dark airs of the tomb till the morning break, instead of rising at once and setting out on their journey to meet it.

As she sat she heard a slight rustle on the dry carpet around her feet. The next moment in the gloom she saw the dark form of a man. She was startled, but he spoke instantly. It was Vavasor. She could not answer for a moment.

“I am sorry I frightened you,” he said.

“It is nothing,” she returned. “But how did you find me?”

“They told me at the house you were somewhere in this direction. Mark had apparently followed you some distance. So I ventured to come and look for you, and something led me right.”

“I hardly know myself where I am going sometimes. And it is so dark we ought to be moving back to the house before we can’t see at all.”

“Do let us risk it a few minutes longer,” said Vavasor. “This is my first escape out of the dungeon-land of London for a whole year! This is paradise. I could imagine I am dreaming of fairyland.”

Vavasor seated himself on the fir leaves beside her. She asked him about his journey and about Cornelius. Presently they rose, found their way without difficulty back to the house, and were soon at the piano.