On the red bridge Sara paused a moment and stood gazing down the river. “What a misty look there is away down there over the salt marshes!” she said, “the boats tipped up on shore, with their slender masts against the sky. The river is certainly going down to the sea, and yet the sea-breeze comes from behind me.” “The Sebastian is nearer the ocean up here than it is down at its mouth,” said John. “Look across: there is only the North Beach between us here and the ocean.” “Between us and Africa, you mean.” “What is it that attracts you toward Africa, Miss St. John?” asked Eugenio. “Antony,” replied Sara, promptly. “Don’t you remember those wonderful lines written by an Ohio soldier, “‘I am dying, Egypt, dying; Ebbs the crimson life-tide fast?’” “Dear me, Miss St. John, I hope you are not taking up _Antony and Cleopatra_ to the detriment of the time-honored _Romeo and Juliet_! Romeo is the orthodox lover, pray remember.” “But I am heterodox,” replied Sara, smiling. Beyond the river the road led through the deep white sand of Florida. Iris’s little boots sank ankle deep. “Take my arm,” said the Captain. Now taking the arm means more or less, according to the arm and the way it is offered. The Captain was tall, the Captain was strong, and he had a way with him. Iris was small, Iris was graceful, and she had a way with her. To say that from that moment they flirted boundlessly all the afternoon does not express it. I am sorry to say, also, that John and the poet openly, and Sara and I tacitly, egged them on. The bullion star of Mokes had been in the ascendant long enough, we thought. The Professor had a staff, a trowel, and a large basket for specimens. He made forays into the thicket, lost himself regularly, and Miss Sharp as regularly went to the rescue and guided him back. “How many old tracks there are turning off to the right and the left!” I said. “Where do they go?” “The most delightful roads are those that go nowhere,” said Eugenio, “roads that go out and haze around in the woods just for fun. Who wants to be always going somewhere?” “These roads will answer your purpose, then,” said John. “Most of them go nowhere. They did go out to old military posts once upon a time, in the Seminole war, but the military posts have disappeared, and now they go nowhere. They are pretty tracks, some of them, especially the old Indian entrance to St. Augustine--a trail coming up from the south.”