Among these Claude had found a little lawn, guarded by great rocks, out of every cranny of which the ashes grew as freely as on flat ground.  Their feet were bedded deep in sweet fern and wild raspberries, and golden-rod, and purple scabious, and tall blue campanulas.  Above them, and before them, and below them, the ashes shook their green filigree in the bright sunshine; and through them glimpses were seen of the purple cliffs above, and, right in front, of the great cataract of Nant Gwynnant, a long snow-white line zigzagging down coal-black cliffs for many a hundred feet, and above it, depth beyond depth of purple shadow away into the very heart of Snowdon, up the long valley of Cwm-dyli, to the great amphitheatre of Clogwyn-y-Garnedd; while over all the cone of Snowdon rose, in perfect symmetry, between his attendant peaks of Lliwedd and Crib Coch.

There they sat, and laughed, and talked, the pleasant summer afternoon, in their pleasant summer bower; and never regretted the silence of the birds, so sweetly did Valencia’s song go up, in many a rich sad Irish melody; while the lowing of the milch kine, and the wild cooing of the herd-boys, came softly up from the vale below, “and all the air was filled with pleasant noise of waters.”

Then Claude must needs photograph them all, as they sat, and group them first according to his fancy; and among his fancies was one, that Valencia should sit as queen, with Headley and the Major at her feet.  And Headley lounged there, and looked into the grass, and thought it well for him could he lie there for ever.

Then Claude must photograph the mountain itself; and all began to talk of it.

“See the breadth of light and shadow,” said Claude; “how the purple depth of the great lap of the mountain is thrown back by the sheet of green light on Lliwedd, and the red glory on the cliffs of Crib Coch, till you seem to look away into the bosom of the hill, mile after mile.”

“And so you do,” said Headley.  “I have learnt to distinguish mountain distances since I have been here.  That peak is four miles from us now; and yet the shadowed cliffs at its foot seem double that distance.”

“And look, look,” said Valencia, “at the long line of glory with which the western sun is gilding the edge of the left hand slope, bringing it nearer and nearer to us every moment, against the deep blue sky!”

“But what a form!  Perfect lightness, perfect symmetry!” said Claude.  “Curve sweeping over curve, peak towering over peak, to the highest point, and then sinking down again as gracefully as they rose.  One can hardly help fancying that the mountain moves; that those dancing lines are not instinct with life.”

“At least,” said Headley, “that the mountain is a leaping wave, frozen just ere it fell.”

“Perfect,” said Valencia.  “That is the very expression!  So concise, and yet so complete.”

And Headley, poor fool, felt as happy as if he had found a gold mine.