them in dark background a row of Norwegian firs, fifty years old, marked the sky line. The afternoon sun cast the shadows of the trees across the fluted marble of two of the pillars, while the other four shimmered in the splendour of the sunlight.
The capitals of the columns had fallen with the blazing ruins of the house, but the bases and tall beautiful fluted forms of each were yet perfect. The ivy which had grown on the sides of the stone steps had climbed in unbridled riot over one of them and hung in graceful festoons from the top.
To Stella's fancy they seemed grim white sentinels guarding the entrance to some vast empire of the dead.
"How still and death-like everything is," she said, with a timid glance about her. "We seem a thousand miles from life."
He took her hand.
"When I stand by your side, in every silent space I hear the beating of the wings of angels."
"The wings of the angel of Death here, I should think!" she said in strange subdued tones, as her eyelids drooped and she looked away.
"Away with such nonsense," he cried, cheerily. "I've something to do before I dare to speak to you again of the love that isin my heart."
