d all round, she listened to the distant sheep-bells, she drew
into her nostrils the green scents of the valley.

"And left his influence here for ever," she added. "His quiet
influence."

"Let me come to see him with you on the way home."

And this time she said, "Yes."

At a little after four they left the sweet valley, and, passing over
the river ascended the hill to the Museum. The door was open, and the
guardian was sitting profoundly asleep in the vestibule of the Emperors.

"You see, that's the picture-frame," Rosamund whispered, when they
were inside, pointing to the doorway. "The branch came just there in my
picture."

She had lifted her hand. He took her by the wrist and gently pulled her
hand down.

"You mustn't show me that."

"Don't let us wake him."

A fly buzzed outside on the sunny threshold of the door, making a sleepy
sound like the winding of a rustic horn in the golden stillness, as they
went forward on tiptoe between the dull red walls of the hall of the
Victory, and came into the room beyond, where the Hermes stood alone but
for the little Dionysos on his arm.

There a greater silence seemed to reign--the silence of the harmony
which lies beyond music, as a blue background of the atmosphere lies
beyond the verges of the vastest stretch of land that man's eyes have
power to see; he sees the blue, but almost as if with his soul, and
in like manner hears the harmony. Both Rosamund and Dion felt the
difference in the silence directly they entered that sacred room.

There was no room beyond it. Not very large, it was lighted by three
windows set in a row under a handsome roof of wood. The walls were dull
red like the walls in the hall of the Victory. On the mosaic pavement
were placed two chairs. Rosamund went straight up to one of them, and
sat down in front of the statue, which was raised on a high pedestal,
and set facing the right-hand wall of the chamber. Dion remained
standing a little way behind her.

He remembered quite well his first visit to Olympia, his first sight
of the Hermes. He had realized then very clearly the tragedy of large
Museums in which statues stand together in throngs, enclosed within
roaring cities. From its situation, hidden in the green breast of this
valley in Elis, the Hermes seemed to receive a sort of consecration, a
blessing from its shrine; and the valley received surely from the Hermes
a gracious benediction, making it unlike any other valley, howe