It was a day in June--nearly a year from the time of the "understanding"-- a day made more beautiful because of its being in the mountains and on a Sunday afternoon.

Dorian and Carlia lived in the midst of its rarity, seated as they were on the grassy hill-side overlooking the dry-land farms near at hand and the valley below, through which tumbled the brook.

The wild odor of hill plants mingled with the pungent fragrance of choke-cherry blossoms.

The air was as clear as crystal.

The mountains stood about them in silent, solemn watchfulness, strong and sure as the ages.