Now they approached a part where the hills came right down to the water, and the lagoon took a right-angled turn between gate-posts of rock, the valley turning with it in its general design. Rounding the rocks on their left-hand, they saw before them a reach of water stretching away two or three miles, and perhaps a mile wide. This lake also, softly lapping in the all-pervading sunlight, was studded with islets of tender green; but in the middle of it—as near as they could judge the middle—there stood a greater island of rock, lifted high out of the water, crowned with pine-trees, flower-bearing, afloat, as it seemed, in a water-meadow sewn with a million opening buds of the lotus. The boats drifted unheeded while they all gazed at the tremulous, tender beauty of the scene—lapping water; island rock in lotus-meadow; reedy shores; blossom on emerald hills; beyond, a hint of snow-capped mountains; and all poised before them, clear-cut and delicate in a dream-medium of quivering, sun-saturated air. With one accord they turned to Lychnis, as if to inquire what her thoughts were. Her face had a flush like the tip of the opening lotus. “The Dragon Altar on the Dragon Island,” she whispered to Such-a-one, who was observed to be in the doubled-up position of one who makes obeisance. Nor would he lead them in the boats any nearer the rock. “I’ll swim there,” said Quentin. “There’ll be lanes through the lotus-meadow.” “I desire you to be good enough to refrain on this occasion.” Lord Sombrewater spoke peremptorily. “Very well,” Quentin replied. “I obey. My heart is chastened, for the moment, by the supreme and subtle distinction of the water-colourist who composed this classic landscape, and there will be opportunities for enterprise at a later date.” “But where are we going to live?” complained Ruby. “We can’t live for ever in these boats.” “What does it matter?” asked Lychnis. “I’d like to go on floating for ever among the lotuses, dabbling my hands in the lake, until the world vanished and there was only a single lotus and my contemplation.” There was profound passion in her voice, and Blackwood turned to controvert the element of heresy in her point of view. But she woke from reverie and made some inquiries. “This is perhaps the earthly paradise. Can we stay here?” She addressed the Chinaman. “Is this valley for us? May we live in those pavilions and contemplate in those porcelain towers? Oh, Ruby! did you see the verandahs? What a summer we shall have—water-parties and lantern-feasts!” The black eyes of their guide, unreadable as boot-buttons, regarded her child-like excitement. He bowed. “Nobody will prevent you, in these valleys, from the enjoyment of whatever you may find at your disposal. Let us explore the accommodative facilities.”