acked by other rocks, this flower
was found. Godfrey and Juliette, passing round either side of the
black, projecting mass to the opening of the toy vale beyond,
discovered it simultaneously. There it stood, one lovely, lily-like
bloom growing alone, virginal, perfect. With a cry of delight they
sprang at it, and plucked it from its root, both of them grasping the
tall stem.

"I saw it first, and I will kiss it!" cried Juliette, "in token of
possession."

"No," said Godfrey, "I did, and I will. I want that flower for my
collection."

"So do I, for mine," answered Juliette.

Then they both tried to set this seal of possession upon that lily
bloom, with the strange result that their young lips met through its
fragile substance and with so much energy that it was crushed and
ruined.

"Oh!" said Godfrey with a start, "look what you have done to the
flower."

"I! I, wicked one! Well, for the matter of that, look what you have
done to my lips. They feel quite bruised."

Then first she laughed, and next looked as though she were going to cry.

"Don't be sad," said Godfrey remorsefully. "No doubt we shall find
another, now that we know where they are."

"Perhaps," she answered, "but it is always the first that one
remembers, and it is finished," and she threw down the stalk and
stamped on it.

Just then they heard a sound of laughter, and looking up, to their
horror perceived that they were not alone. For there, seated upon
stones at the end of the tiny valley, in composed and comfortable
attitudes, which suggested that they had not arrived that moment, were
two gentlemen, who appeared to be highly amused.

Godfrey knew them at once, although he had not seen them since the
previous autumn. They were Brother Josiah Smith, the spiritualist, and
Professor Petersen, the investigating Dane, whom he used to meet at the
seances in the Villa Ogilvy.

"I guess, young Brother Knight," said the former, his eyes sparkling
with sarcastic merriment, "that there is no paint on you. When you find
a flower, you know how to turn it to the best possible use."

"The substance of flowers is fragile, especially if of the lily tribe,
and impedes nothing," remarked the learned Dane in considered tones,
though what he meant Godfrey did not understand at the moment. On
consideration he understood well enough.

"Our mutual friend, Madame Riennes, who is absent in Italy, will be
greatly amused when she hears of this episode," said Brot