it was late afternoon before Yvon
remembered that I must not sleep again without visiting my own tower, as
he would call it; and for this, the young lady had leave to go with us.
It was a short walk, not more than half a mile, and in a few minutes we
were looking up at the tower, that seemed older and sadder by day than
it had done in the evening dimness. It stood alone. The body of what had
been behind and beside it was gone, but we could trace the lines of a
large building, the foundations still remaining; and here and there were
piles of cut stone, the same stone as that in the tower. Yvon told me
that ever since the castle had begun to fall into decay (being long
deserted), the country people around had been in the habit of mending
their houses, and building them indeed, often, from the stone of the old
chateau. He pointed to one cottage and another, standing around at
little distance. "They are dogs," he cried, "that have each a bit of the
lion's skin. Ah, Jacques! but for my father of blessed memory, thy tower
would have gone in the same way. He vowed, when he came of age, that
this desecration should go no further. He brought the priest, and
together they laid a fine curse upon whoever should move another stone
from the ruins, or lay hands on La Tour D'Arthenay. Since then, no man
touches this stone. It remains, as you see. It has waited till this day,
for thee, its propriety."

He had not quite the right word, Melody, but I had not the heart to
correct him, being more moved by the thing than I could show reason for.
Inside the tower there was a stone staircase, that went steeply up one
side, or rather the front it was, for from it we could step across to a
wide stone shelf that stood out under the round window. It might have
been part of a great chimney-piece, such as there still were in Chateau
Claire. The ivy had reached in through the empty round, and covered this
stone with a thick mat, more black than green. Though ready enough to
step on this myself, I could not think it fit for Mlle. de Ste. Valerie,
and took the liberty to say so; but she laughed, and told me she had
climbed to this perch a hundred times. She was light as a leaf, and when
I saw her set her foot in her brother's hand and spring across the empty
space from the stair to the shelf, it seemed no less than if a wind had
blown her. Soon we were all three crouching or kneeling on the stone,
with our elbows in the curve of the great window, lookin