Norah crossed the bridge and climbed upon a half-fallen wall, perching herself on a huge flat stone that lay bathed in sunshine. Above her the jackdaws which nested in the ivy-covered tower chattered and scolded, flying in and out to their homes; below was no sound save the hurried babble of the river, where now and then came the flash of a leaping trout. It was very peaceful. She tried to “reconstruct” it in the way they loved, seeing again the old days when the castle stood proudly, and chieftains and fair ladies, richly clad, moved about the rooms and looked through the narrow window slits at the river, running just as it ran to-day. It was a fascinating employment; so that she did not hear a light step, until a falling stone brought her back to the present with a jump. “Did I startle you?” Sir John asked, looking up at her. “They told me you had gone out, and I guessed that if you weren’t somewhere playing with a baby you would have found the ruin!” “The babies and the ruin are both lovely,” Norah said, smiling. “I’m taking them in turn.” “Did you sleep well?” Sir John asked, climbing up to the wall, and lighting a cigarette. “Oh, yes, thanks; only the morning was too nice to stay in bed. I had such a funny little room, all nooks and corners.” “_I_ had a feather bed!” said Sir John, with a wry face. “Awful things; I don’t know how people ever slept on them. It was very huge and puffy, and I sank down into its depths, and felt as if the waters were closing over my head. Then I dreamed wild dreams of battle. Altogether, I feel as if I had an adventurous night.” “I read once of an old woman who slept on a turkey-feather bed for twenty years, until at last all the feathers stuck together in a solid mass like a mat, and he had a sealskin coat made out of it!” said Norah. “I’d love to believe it, but it beats any fishing-yarn I ever heard,” said Sir John, regarding her fixedly. “Do you believe it yourself?” “I don’t know anything about the ways of featherbeds,” Norah said, laughing. “But I always thought she must have been an unpleasant old lady, for it showed clearly that she hadn’t shaken up her mattress for twenty years. Oh, Sir John, did you find a bathroom?” “I did not; there isn’t one. I’m sorry, Norah. We ought to have better luck at our stopping-place to-night.” “I suppose one can’t expect baths everywhere,” Norah said. “The queer part to us is being charged extra for one’s tub; no hotel in Australia ever does anything so ungracious. They rather encourage one to take baths there.”