 of man and woman warm with life, listening all day long to the
music of uttered thoughts? Dark-buried whilst so many ages of history went by,
thrown open for the sunshine to rest upon its pallid antiquity, again had this
chamber won a place in human hearts, witnessed the birth of joy and hope,
blended itself with the destiny of mortals. He who pictured Paris dreamt not of
these passionate lips and their unborn language, knew not that he wrought for a
world hidden so far in time. Though his white-limbed goddess fade ghostlike, the
symbol is as valid as ever. Did not her wan beauty smile youthful again in the
eyes of these her latest worshippers?
    And they went forth among the painted pillars, once more shunning each
other's look. It was some minutes before Cecily knew that her fingers still
crushed the spray of maidenhair; then she touched it gently, and secreted it
within her glove. It must be dead when she reached home, but that mattered
nothing; would it not remain the sign of something deathless?
    She believed so. In her vision the dead city had a new and wonderful life;
it lay glorious in the light of heaven, its strait ways fit for the treading of
divinities, its barren temples reconsecrate with song and sacrifice. She
believed there was that within her soul which should survive all change and
hazard - survive, it might be, even this warm flesh that it was hard not to
think immortal.
    She sought Miriam's side, took her hand, held it playfully as they walked on
together.
    »Why do you look at me so sadly, Miriam?«
    »I did not mean to.«
    »Yet you do. Let me see you smile once to-day.«
    But Miriam's smile was sadder than her grave look.
 

                                   Chapter X

                                The Declaration

It was true enough that Clifford Marsh would have relished an invitation to
accompany that party of four to Pompeii. For one thing, he was beginning to have
a difficulty in passing his days; if the present state of things prolonged
itself, his position might soon resemble that of Mr. Musselwhite. But chiefly
would he have welcomed the prospect of spending some hours in the society of
Miss Doran, and under circumstances which would enable him to shine. Clifford
had begun to nurse a daring ambition. Allowing his vanity to caress him into the
half-belief that he was really making a noble stand against the harshness of
fate, he naturally spent much time in imagining how other people regarded him -
above all, what figure he made in the
