Mr. Barnard speaks in much admiration. Anne, still breathless, feeling happier, but her skirts are torn by the blackberries and low bushes: 'Why, that I like it, I am vexed to say, beyond all things.' His Excellency's Secretary, becoming more elated (Anne having bright pink in her flushed cheeks): 'And if you do, my dear Anne, why should we not have it?' (This with all acknowledgment of the lamentable fact, which I impress upon Marinus, that Anne's approval is the only thing which will matter; Marinus always argues that in the other scale are 'Robin Gray' and that packet of letters which Lord Melville tied up with blue ribbon.) Anne answers the adoring Barnard, not too decisively: 'Because the World's end is not so distant as this spot from the haunts of men.' Barnard's last effort is worthy of a diplomatist; he sighed: 'It's very charming, however.' They visited a number of other places, but Barnard's sigh won the day; and a new road was made to 'Paradise' by the slaves--a road we were presently to see, still showing the hard brick foundation, winding and hugging the mountain from the present Groote Schuur Road. There is a delicious description of a day at 'Paradise' in the wonderful 'Lives of the Lindsays'--the mad, witty Lindsays! and Anne was one of them--and she wrote as amusingly and wittily to her sisters as she wrote to Melville, and she tied up the beautiful Cape wild flowers in gauze bags to send to 'my dearest Margaret.' I sometimes think that the letters, which are known to be in a famous collection kept from the world, must be less philosophical, less cynical, less amusing, and more in accord with the mood in which Anne wrote 'Old Robin Gray.' That in 1797. This in 1909--Marinus and I asking our way of an old black woodcutter, with feathery green 'Newlands Creeper' twisted round his hat--that heirloom of the old slave descendant--a broad, passive grin crinkling over his face: 'Jaa, Missis; Missis want ole slavy-house--want get by ole "Paradise"? Yaa, vat I know ole Paradise; working by dese woods tirty years--fader, grandfader, all working by "Paradise."' So we followed him, our guide, our ponies scrambling up the slippery, moss-covered pathway, the trees growing low and thick, obscuring the sunlight, the dark figure of the woodman always running before us. Deeper and deeper we plunged into the low woods, when turning suddenly to the right and going slightly downhill, quite behind the fir-covered koppie, we came into 'Paradise.' Found! and in ruins! And I picked ferns from the walls of Anne Barnard's dining-room! Here was the courtyard with the chief buildings facing north; on the right, the long stoep showing remains of the curved, rounded steps. On the left are the walls of lower buildings--probably the kitchens which the Barnards built.