Just now these barges seemed like quaint, black shadows, moving with an eerie silence. There were, however, other craft, steamboats, which shimmered and twinkled, their reflected lights dancing merrily up and down upon the water. These were the vessels which conveyed the people across from either end of Margaret Island. On the bank opposite was the old town of Ofen, better known as Buda. From where the couple stood, quiet in the thoughts which gripped them, they could see the lights of the royal palace scintillating in the darkness. From the upper end of the island they could hear faintly the plashing of superfluous water as, from the bath-house, it falls in a pretty cascade into the pond beneath. Geoffrey Templeton wondered if there could possibly be any other place in the world so wonderful as this, while Zita looked up at his strong profile, thrown into relief by the ethereal light above, and smiled slightly to herself, for she too was idealizing, contemplating whether there could be another man in this world so splendid as he. She looked at the moon, and even as she gazed upward a small black cloud passed beneath, quite obscuring its silvery sheen. Coincidently she remembered that on the morrow Geoffrey was to return to England, his holiday at an end. "Oh, Geoffrey, dear heart," she murmured softly, "must you indeed depart to-morrow for your cold, cheerless England?" He turned toward her, and, acting on the impulse of the moment, seized her dainty hands within his and pressed them passionately. "I wish I could say otherwise," he muttered hoarsely, "for I would ask nothing better than to stop here with you always; but I have no option. We must part, darling, for six months. It shall not be longer, I swear it. After all," he continued, "six months is but a short time, and then, when I return, we can be married. Cheer up, little one, only twenty-four weeks, and then.... Smile, Zita, for this night is our last one together, and it hurts me to see you sad." Gently releasing her fingers, and catching her chin with his right hand, he lifted her face gently so that they gazed into one another's eyes. Pluckily she attempted to smile, but instead a tiny tear, escaping, rolled down her cheek, and seeing this Geoffrey drew nearer to her, kissing it away before it found time to drop. Quickly the hours sped by while they talked of the past.... Once again he made her laugh as he reminded her of the time when he could talk no Hungarian, when she, taking pity on his plight, instructed him, until now he was proficient in the Magyar language. They spoke of the future, the far-off time when he should return to Budapest and claim her for his own, and together they planned the time-to-be, discussed how long they would spend in England with his people, and how long in Budapest with hers. From not far away there was a discreet cough from Zita's chaperon, and Geoffrey looked, dismayed, at his watch.