Geoffrey watched it wandering over the dark wood on his right, lighting up the tall stems of the beeches, and sending a tricky gleam or two among the tangled underwood.

It seemed to him a symbol of the sudden illumination of mind and purpose which had come to him, there, on the shadowed water--and he turned to look at a window which he knew was Helena's.

There were lights within it, and he pictured Helena at her glass, about to slip into some bright dress or other, which would make her doubly fair.

Meanwhile from the rose of the sunset, rosy lights were stealing over the water and faintly glorifying the old house and its spreading gardens.

An overpowering sense of youth--of the beauty of the world--of the mystery of the future, beat through his pulses.