Here by the crumbling sun dial, he recalled the night when he had kissed her for the first time.

Here, again, by the rim of the fountain, with its fringe of green, she once had paused, and, baring her arm to the shoulder, had thrust it deep into the water, and then withdrawing it, had given it to him to kiss, all wet and cool; and here, at last, under the shadow of the pear trees they had sat, evening after evening, looking off over the little valley below them, watching the night build itself, dome-like, from horizon to zenith.
Brusquely Vanamee turned away from the prospect.

The Seed ranch was dark at this time of the year, and flowerless.

Far off toward its centre, he had caught a brief glimpse of the house where Angele had lived, and a faint light burning in its window.

But he turned from it sharply.