"I cannot at all account for myself," I said, "or for you; I suppose a long time has elapsed since I went to sleep; so long that I hardly remember where it was, though I think it was in Boston--in my bachelor quarters there." They both looked puzzled and concerned. "And what is your name?" asked the girl. "Henry T. Joyce," answered I. I could see that my very name amused them though they tried to conceal it. "And yours?" asked I of the girl. "Lydia--Lydia second, or more correctly, Lydia of Lydia." "That means," said the boy, "that her mother's name was Lydia; and so I call myself Cleon of Lydia, because, my mother's name was Lydia. She," he added, pointing to the girl, "is my sister." He was dressed, like her, in a simple tunic coming to the knees, and was shod like her also; but the tunic was not pinned up on one shoulder: it had sleeves like our jacket. We were walking down the hill and came now in sight of a group of buildings entirely of wood, of a beauty that made them a delight to behold. One much larger than the others reminded me of what Westminster Hall would be if separated from the more recent Houses of Parliament. It was lighted by large Gothic windows that started from above a covered veranda; the veranda offered countless opportunities for surprises in the way of carved pillars, twisting staircases, and subsidiary balconies, every corner being smothered in vines and bursting into blossoms of varied hue. Clearly the upper part of the building was a large hall, and the lower part split up into smaller rooms. Near this Hall and connected with it by covered ways were numerous other buildings, all different, but conforming to the lay of the land on either side of a torrent, upon one level reach of which stood the mill in the same quaint style. "Our power house," said Cleon, pointing to it. I thought of the hideous masonry that ruined the valley of the Inn between San Moritz and Celerina in the old days, and I wondered. But my eyes were too much bent on the beautiful lines of Lydia's form to linger long on the mill or its adjacent buildings. I had fallen behind her in order to be able to take better account of her. The weight of the basket on her head brought out the strength of her shoulders and the rhythmic movement of her body. Every time she turned to speak to us her hands left the waist in an unconscious effort to maintain her balance, thus throwing into relief the rounded outline of her arm and the delicacy of her wrist. "Alma venus genitrix," thought I, "hominum divumque voluptas."