BOOK III.
STORM IN THE MOUNTAINS XVI FRIENDS A shaded walk, with a glimpse of sea beyond, embowering trees, a stretch of lawn on one side, and on the other the dormer windows of a fine old house half hidden by scaffolding, from which there came now and then the quick strokes of a workman's hammer.
It was half-past four, if the sharp little note of a cuckoo-clock, snapping out one, told the time correctly.
Two men are pacing this leafy retreat, both of whom we have seen before, but under circumstances so distracting that we took little note of their appearance, fine as it undoubtedly was in either case.

However, we are more at leisure now, and will pause for an instant to give you some idea of these two prominent men, with one of whom our story will henceforth have very much to do.
One of them--the Curator of our famous museum--lacks comeliness of figure, though at moments he can be very impressive.

We can therefore recognize him at a distance by means of a certain ungainliness of stride sometimes seen in a man wholly given over to intellectual pursuits.

But when he turns and you get a glimpse of his face, you experience at once the scope of mind and charm of spirit which make his countenance a marked one in the metropolis.

A little gray about the temples, a tendency--growing upon him, alas!--to raise his hand to his ear when called upon to listen, show that he has already passed the meridian of life; but in his quick glance, and clear and rapid speech, youth still lingers, making of him a companion delightful to many and admirable to all.
The other--Carleton Roberts, his bosom friend, and the museum's chief director--is of a different type, but no less striking to the eye.