Not a feature remained of the cave that he had discovered five years ago, but sitting there upon his horse, how readily he reconstructed the scene! Ah, how easy it was! Every line of that cave, the new fresh earth, the gleaming black seam, the very stones in the walls, he could replace.

Carefully, deliberately, he recalled the incidents of the evening spent in the cave: the very words she spoke; how her lips moved as she spoke them; how her eyes glanced, now straight at him, now from under the drooping lids; how she smiled, how she wept, how she laughed aloud; how her face shone with the firelight playing on it, and the soul light radiating through it.

He revelled in the memory of it all.
There was the very spot where Mr.Penny had lain in vocal slumber.
Here he had stood with the snowstorm beating on his face.

He resolved to trace step by step the path he had taken that night, and to taste again the bliss of which he had drunk so deep.

And all the while, as he rode down the gorge, underneath the rapture of remembering, he was conscious of an exquisite pain.