‘Where?――Where do you mean?’ ‘And you played on the flute of Pan; and you bathed in the streams.... Do you remember?’ ‘It was there that we first met?’ ‘It was there that we ran in the sunlight over the green grass.’ ‘It was there that we lay in the shadow of the trees.’ ‘The deep sea: the dark sky: the sunshine: the waving branches: the garden:――it is just as if I could see the reflection of them all in your eyes.... _Do_ you remember?’ Brocklehurst shook his head again. ‘Only when you tell me,’――he laughed somewhat ruefully. ‘After all, it is _your_ garden, you know. I can’t get there by myself.’ ‘If we really could get there!’ ‘Oh, well, I’ll come with you any time if you’ll show me the way.’ ‘Suppose you had a dream,’ Graham said slowly, thoughtfully, ‘and in your dream you saw there was only _one_ way――should you have the courage to take it? I mean, if it was a way that seemed to lead into the darkness?――death!’ ‘Death!’ Brocklehurst looked at him as he repeated the word. ‘No,’ he half whispered, ‘not that――I hate the idea of it. I hate everything connected with it.’ ‘Still――――’ ‘Have you ever seen a dead person?’ ‘No.’ ‘I have, then――once.... I was made to look.... It was my grandfather.... But I’ll never look again at anything of that kind――never――never――never.... He was so changed――you can’t think.... His face and hands were like wax.... His hands.... Oh, I didn’t like them.... I saw them that night after I had gone to bed ... they were on the bedclothes ... they came closer and closer ... it was horrible.... No, no, there was no garden for him, believe me!――nothing――nothing any more.’ VI And it seemed to Graham that nowhere, save only in a few poems, and in one or two passages of Plato, he could find the expression of a sentiment even approximating to that he felt for his friend. Many books he turned over, and such lines as caught his fancy he read again and again until he knew them by heart. Those portions of the _Sonnets_ of Shakespeare which were least rhetorical, which appeared to spring from a genuine feeling, he learned in this way. Was not _his_ friend, too, the ‘lord of his love,’ the ‘herald of the spring,’ the ‘lovely boy,’ the ‘rose of beauty,’ ‘music to hear’?―― ‘For all that beauty that doth cover thee Is but the seemly raiment of my heart.’ And again:―― ‘Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate: Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer’s lease hath all too short a date: * * * * * But thy eternal summer shall not fade.’