ghtened, I thought, if I spoke to
her in that lonesome place, I would wait till we were on the cliffs, in
the open eye of day.

She left my side for one moment while I was poking under a stone for a
young pieuvre, which had darkened the little pool of water round it with
its inky fluid. I heard her utter an exclamation of delight, and I gave
up my pursuit instantly to learn what was giving her pleasure. She was
stooping down to look beneath a low arch, not more than two feet high,
and I knelt down beside her. Beyond lay a straight narrow channel of
transparent water, blue from a faint reflected light, with smooth,
sculptured walls of rock, clear from mollusca, rising on each side of
it. Level lines of mimic waves rippled monotonously upon it, as if it
was stirred by some soft wind which we could not feel. You could have
peopled it with tiny boats flitting across it, or skimming lightly down
it. Tears shone in Olivia's eyes.

"It reminds me so of a canal in Venice," she said, in a tremulous voice.

"Do you know Venice?" I asked; and the recollection of her portrait
taken in Florence came to my mind. Well, by-and-by I should have a right
to hear about all her wanderings.

"Oh, yes!" she answered; "I spent three months there once, and this
place is like it."

"Was it a happy time?" I inquired, jealous of those tears.

"It was a hateful time," she said, vehemently. "Don't let us talk of it.
I hate to remember it. Why cannot we forget things, Dr. Martin? You, who
are so clever, can tell me that."

"That is simple enough," I said, smiling. "Every circumstance of our
life makes a change in the substance of the brain, and, while that
remains sound and in vigor, we cannot forget. To-day is being written on
our brain now. You will have to remember this, Olivia."

"I know I shall remember it," she answered, in a low tone.

"You have travelled a great deal, then?" I pursued, wishing her to talk
about herself, for I could scarcely trust my resolution to wait till we
were out of the caves. "I love you with all my heart and soul" was on my
tongue's end.

"We travelled nearly all over Europe," she replied.

I wondered whom she meant by "we." She had never used the plural pronoun
before, and I thought of that odious woman in Guernsey--an unpleasant
recollection.

We had wandered back to the opening where Tardif had left us. The rapid
current between us and Breckhou was running in swift eddies, which
showed the more plainl