We walked on together. Wynnie made me no reply, but, weeping silently, clung to my arm. We walked a long way by the edge of the cliffs, beheld the sun go down, and then turned and went home. When we reached the house, Wynnie left me, saying only, “Thank you, papa. I think it is all true. I will try to be a better girl.” I went straight to Connie’s room: she was lying as I saw her last, looking out of her window. “Connie,” I said, “Wynnie and I have had such a treat--such a sunset!” “I’ve seen a little of the light of it on the waves in the bay there, but the high ground kept me from seeing the sunset itself. Did it set in the sea?” “You do want the General Gazetteer, after all, Connie. Is that water the Atlantic, or is it not? And if it be, where on earth could the sun set but in it?” “Of course, papa. What a goose I am! But don’t make game of me--_please_. I am too deliciously happy to be made game of to-night.” “I won’t make game of you, my darling. I will tell you about the sunset--the colours of it, at least. This must be one of the best places in the whole world to see sunsets.” “But you have had no tea, papa. I thought you would come and have your tea with me. But you were so long, that mamma would not let me wait any longer.” “O, never mind the tea, my dear. But Wynnie has had none. You’ve got a tea-caddy of your own, haven’t you?” “Yes, and a teapot; and there’s the kettle on the hob--for I can’t do without a little fire in the evenings.” “Then I’ll make some tea for Wynnie and myself, and tell you at the same time about the sunset. I never saw such colours. I cannot tell you what it was like while the sun was yet going down, for the glory of it has burned the memory of it out of me. But after the sun was down, the sky remained thinking about him; and the thought of the sky was in delicate translucent green on the horizon, just the colour of the earth etherealised and glorified--a broad band; then came another broad band of pale rose-colour; and above that came the sky’s own eternal blue, pale likewise, but so sure and changeless. I never saw the green and the blue divided and harmonised by the rose-colour before. It was a wonderful sight. If it is warm enough to-morrow, we will carry you out on the height, that you may see what the evening will bring.” “There is one thing about sunsets,” returned Connie--“two things, that make me rather sad--about themselves, not about anything else. Shall I tell you them?” “Do, my love. There are few things more precious to learn than the effects of Nature upon individual minds. And there is not a feeling of yours, my child, that is not of value to me.” “You are so kind, papa! I am so glad of my accident. I think I should never have known how good you are but for that. But my thoughts seem so little worth after you say so much about them.” “Let me be judge of that, my dear.” “Well, one thing is, that we shall never, never, never, see the same sunset again.”