“Of course,” she replied. “It could not be done otherwise. I have a brother who has wealth unbounded, and all his slaves are thus constructed; but Plucritus is somewhat after the nature of a philanthropist and is rather inclined to spoil than ill-use his servants as long as they do their work well.” “And if not?” I inquired, interested. “Well, then, I suppose they have a lively time of it. I never distinctly asked, though. But tell me, what you intend to do to-day?” “I am quite at a loss. Not being either in my own land or on the earth I am unacquainted with the way the time is spent.” “You may walk through the grounds if you wish. I am at your disposal and will show you everything of interest.” “I am afraid I am in that mood when very little interests me.” “Then will you walk through the picture-galleries? You might find something of interest there if you care for art.” “I have no particular wish to visit the galleries.” “But you must do something,” she laughed. “You’ll have to do something. You can’t sit here all day.” “No,” I remarked, rising. “I will go through the grounds—but alone, I need no companion.” “Well, you may go alone if you wish it,” she declared, “but I will join you there. Solitude is not good for people; it makes them get into a ‘I’ll do this,’ and ‘I’ll do that,’ and ‘you’re not wanted,’ sort of way, which is very bad for them.” So I went out alone, leaving her to follow when she cared. It was quite true that the morning light was shining clear and bright, that the birds were singing and the fountain playing, but it was simply an unreal dream picture to me. I walked from terrace to terrace, descended steps and passed through grottoes, looked at the marvellous fountains and the curious fishes swimming in their basins; I passed down avenues of trees and flowers of softest shade and sweetest fragrance, and at last reached a spot where I heard the sound of the deep dark river. To me there was more reality about this heavy flowing stream than about anything around. I passed down a steep path that led to its banks and stood there looking in the inky tide. Like all deep silent things it had the power to keep me deep in thought. I am not quite sure but that its ever-lapping, flowing waters soothed me, for there I sat watching it and scanning the waste drear land beyond, scarcely conscious of anything besides. I was aroused by Vestné calling me from above. “Now I knew if I left you alone,” she explained, “you would come to the most dangerous spot. If you sit here much longer the dregs will poison you, as the vapour is ever rising.” “I was feeling a much-wished-for restfulness,” I observed. “It is the effects of the poison,” she returned. “I must beg of you to come away. If you are poisoned I shall be held responsible. Surely you will come away, if only to relieve me from the discomfort of that position.” Thereupon I got up ungraciously; this interference seemed to me to be very uncalled-for.