"Youth, with its hopes and aspirations, when they come from honest promptings, is always fair to look upon; more's the pity that these aspirations all lead to but one end--sorrow, and disappointment, and weariness. Verily, all is vanity, vanity! We travel by different roads, but we all arrive at the same goal." He looked dreamily away across the landscape to the far distant horizon; then continued, as though talking to himself: "Yet youth pleases, because it desires to live in love--and love is God and Heaven in one. It is the principal of the only two things--it and memory--we carry with us in our passage from this life to the next. Love and memory are two great indestructible attributes of the human soul. True, we take with us our 'character,' as it may be called, but that counts little, unless it be founded upon love. And memory is the ever-living witness showing forth whether our life here has been influenced mainly by selfishness, or ambition, or hate, or cruelty, or--love. For only the love shall live and flourish again; all the rest shall wither and die. Ye hear of 'undying hate,' but there is no such thing. All hates, even, die out at last; love only lives for ever and can never die." He paused, and remained for a space gazing into the distance. Finally, he turned again to Leonard. "Come with me, and find your friend; I have that to show you that I wish you seriously to consider." They walked together down the hill. Meanwhile he continued, "You say your mind is made up, if the decision rests with you. Well, nominally, it rests with the king, of course; but, in reality, I suspect, in this case with the maiden herself. The king is too fond of her--too anxious for her happiness--to desire to thwart her wishes. And he has remarked of late that she is not as she used to be; that she has fits of sadness and melancholy. Her state alarms him. I think, perhaps, he fears it may be the first sign of what is called here the 'falloa.' But," looking at Leonard with a half-smile, "I suspect there is a remedy for her disease, whereas there is none known for the 'falloa.'" When Leonard heard these words his heart and pulses bounded, and he felt indeed as though walking upon air. Nor did he forget what he owed in the matter to his friend. His breast swelled with gratitude, and he poured out his thanks with a rush of words that stopped only when he caught sight of Templemore coming towards them. Leonard ran to meet him, and somewhat incoherently explained what Monella had been saying, while Monella led the way to his own apartments in the palace. When they were seated there he went over again most of what he had impressed on Leonard--for Jack had understood but little of Elwood's impetuous talk--and added,