Isola and her husband lingered for a long time upon the hilltop, he revelling in the familiar beauty of that magnificent stretch of cliff and sea, out to the dim slate colour of the Dodman Point, bay beyond bay, curving away towards Falmouth and the Lizard--while between that hill and the sea lay a world of fertile meadows and bright green cornfields, of hill and hollow, wood and common, copse and garden, a rich and smiling country, a land of summer flowers and plenteous growth. “I never stand upon this hill without feeling proud of being a Cornishman,” said Disney, “and yet, after all, it is a foolish thing to be proud of an accident. My little Breton girl might as well be proud of being a countrywoman of Duguesclin’s.” “Perhaps if I had been born anywhere else I should not have been so ready to fall in love with a soldier,” answered Isola. “I was brought up to think a knight and a warrior the one ideal: and so I was fascinated by the first soldier who took any notice of me.” “But were you really fascinated, and were you really in love,” exclaimed Disney, infinitely delighted at this little speech of his wife’s, “in love with a battered campaigner--or did you just think you liked me a little bit, only because you wanted to get away from Dinan?” “I really--really--really loved you,” she answered softly, looking up at him with eyes dimmed by tears, as he drew her nearer to him in his gladness. “I was not tired of Dinan--or my life there--and my heart went out to you at once, because you were good and noble, and seemed to care for me.” “There was no seeming in it, Isola. I was knocked over at once, like a pigeon out of a trap. I had been in love with you three weeks--three centuries it seemed--before I could screw up my courage so far as to think of proposing for you. And then if Hazelrigg hadn’t helped me with your father, I don’t suppose I should ever have broken the ice. But when he--the colonel--showed himself so frank and willing--and the way was all made smooth for me from a domestic point of view--and when I saw that kind little look in your eyes, and the shy little smile--yes, you are smiling so now--I took heart of grace, and stormed the citadel. Do you remember the evening I asked you to be my wife, Isola; that starlit night when I had been dining with your people, and you and Gwendolen, and Hazelrigg and I went out upon the terrace to look at the stars, and the river, and the twinkling lights of the boats down by the quay, and the diligence driving over the bridge, deep, deep down in the valley below us? Do you remember how I lured you away from the other two, and how we stood under the vine-leaves in the berceau, and I found the words somehow--feeblest, stupidest words, I’m afraid--to make you know that all the happiness of my life to come depended upon winning you for my wife?” “I remember as if it were last night,” she answered gravely. “But oh, how long ago it seems!” “Why do you sigh as you say that?”