The summer lightning flickered to the westward; but round them the rich soft night seemed full of love,--as full of love as their own hearts were, and, like them, brooding silently upon its joy.

At last the walk was over; the kind moon sank low behind the hills; and the darkness hid their blushes as they paced into the sleeping village, and their hands parted unwillingly at last.
When they came into the hall, through the group of lounging gownsmen and tourists, they found Bowie arguing with Mrs.Lewis, in his dogmatic Scotch way,-- "So ye see, madam, there's no use defending the drunken loon any-more at all; and here will my leddies have just walked their bonny legs off, all through that carnal sin of drunkenness, which is the curse of your Welsh populaaation." "And not quite unknown north of Tweed either, Bowie," said Valencia, laughing.

"There now, say no more about it.

We have had a delightful walk, and nobody is the least tired.

Don't say any more, Mrs.Lewis: but tell them to get us some supper.