reined in.

"I brought you this roundabout way on purpose," she said. "Is it not
what the poet would call a fair domain?"

Below them was a vast flat expanse bounded opposite by a mountain chain,
that rose abruptly from the level, breaking into much irregularity of
surface above, but all its hollows blurred with woods. Beyond a dip
rose, far in the distance, a huge crouching formidable mass--St. Helena,
named after a Russian princess, the wife of the last of the Russian
governors of northern California. On the plain were golden fields,
orchards, compact masses of the eucalyptus-tree planted as shelters for
the cattle in time of storm or unbearable heat. Many cattle were roaming
about; on the grazing land in the far distance towards the town of St.
Peter--a mere white cluster in the north at the base of the range--were
the horses. Over the mountains lay a shimmering haze, blue or pink; it
was difficult to define whether the colors flowed through each other or
subtly united.

"It is all yours," added Isabel, emerging from the role of the mere
cicerone. "Are you not proud of it?"

Gwynne did in truth dilate, but hastily assured himself that it was at
the beauty of his estate, not at its paltry nineteen thousand acres. Had
he not shot over many an estate as large? Had not his grandfather come
into four times that number? True, most of them had not been entailed,
and this at least was his, his own. He quite realized it for the first
time; even as a source of income he had barely given it a thought; even
after Isabel's descriptions he had never exerted himself to picture it.
As a resource in his crisis it was all very well, but not worth while
shaping into concrete form until he could avoid it no longer.

But now, as he gazed down and over the great beautiful expanse--for even
the mountain-side and much beyond was his--he felt a sudden passionate
gratitude to that Otis whose first name he had forgotten, pride fairly
invaded his chest; then, as he realized that it was visibly swelling
under Isabel's intent gaze, he blushed, laughed confusedly, turned away
his head. But his annoyance was routed by a speechless amazement, for
Isabel suddenly flung both arms round his neck and gave him a hearty
kiss.

"There!" she exclaimed. "I never really liked you before, though I never
denied you were interesting enough. Men are nothing but overgrown boys,
only some are nice and some are not. You are. I'll really adopt you now,
instea