The Vision was in white, with a profusion of open-work. There were blue ribbons connected with it. There were also black eyes, of the almond-shaped, heavy-lidded variety that I had thought existed only in Lely's pictures, and great coils of brown hair which was gold where the chequered sunlight fell upon it, and two lips that were inexpressibly red. I was filled with pity for my tired horse, and a resolve that for this once her thirst should be quenched. Thereupon, I lifted my cap hastily; and Guendolen scrambled to the other bank, and spluttered, and had carried me well past the Iron Spring, before I announced to the evening air that I was a fool, and that Guendolen was describable by various quite picturesque and derogatory epithets. And I smiled. "Now, Robert Etheridge Townsend, you writer of books, here is a subject made to your hand!" And then: "Only 'twixt the light and shade Floating memories of my maid Make me pray for Guendolen." After this we retraced our steps. I was peering anxiously about the roadway. "Pardon me," said I, subsequently; "but _have_ you seen anything of a watch--a small gold one, set with pearls?" "Heavens!" said the Vision, sympathetically, "what a pity! Are you sure it fell here?" "I don't seem to have it about me," I answered, with cryptic, but entire veracity. I searched about my pockets, with a puckered brow. "And as we stopped here--" I looked inquiringly into the water. "From this side," observed the Vision, impersonally, "there is less glare from the brook." Having tied Guendolen to a swinging limb, I sat down contentedly in these woods. The Vision moved a little, lest I be crowded. "It might be further up the road," she suggested. "Oh, I must have left it at the hotel," I observed. "You might look--" said she, peering into the water. "Forever!" I assented. The Vision flushed, "I didn't mean--" she began. "But I did," quoth I,--"and every word of it." "Why, in that case," said she, and rose to her feet, "I'd better--" A frown wrinkled her brow; then a deep, curved dimple performed a similar office for her cheek. "I wonder--" said she. "Why, you would be a bold-faced jig," said I, composedly; "but, after all there is nobody about. And, besides,--for I suspect you of being one of the three dilapidated persons in veils who came last night,--we are going to be introduced right after supper, anyway." The Vision sat down. "You mentioned your sanatorium?" quoth she. "The Asylum of Love," said I; "discharged--under a false impression, --as cured, and sent to paradise. "Oh!" said I, defiant, "but it _is_!" She looked about her. "The woods _are_ rather beautiful," she conceded, softly. "They form a quite appropriate background," said I. "It is a veritable Eden, before the coming of the snake." "Before?" she queried, dubiously.