When the evening collation was over—­a gypsy-like repast for which every one seemed to have an excellent appetite—­Mr. Brent asked Eleanor if she would not accompany him to the eastern side of the mountain to see the moon rise.  While she hesitated, uncertain what to say, Clare’s voice spoke quietly at her side.  “Miss Milbourne has an engagement with me,” he said.  “I fear you must defer the pleasure of admiring the moon in her society for a little while, Mr. Brent.”  Then to Eleanor, “Shall we go now?”

She assented, and they walked away.  Mr. Brent, thus left behind, naturally felt aggrieved, and turned to Mrs. Brantley with some slight irritation stirring his usually courteous repose.

“It strikes me that Major Clare’s manners decidedly lack polish,” he said with an air of grave reprehension.  “Is it true, as I am told, that he is going to sell that fine old place where we spent the day, and emigrate to Egypt?”

“He is quite ready for a lunatic asylum,” said Mrs. Lancaster, who was standing near.  “But, whatever his folly may be, I certainly do not agree with you, Mr. Brent, in thinking that his manners need any improvement.”

Meanwhile, Eleanor was saying, “You should not have spoken so curtly to Mr. Brent.”

“If I can avoid it, I shall never speak to him again,” Clare answered.  “Don’t let us talk of him.  I did not bring you away to discuss anybody we have left behind, or anything of which we have talked before.  We are to be like immortals—­to forget the past and live only in the present.”

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“Round to a point from whence we can overlook Claremont.”

She said nothing more, and he led her to the eastern side of the mountain, where, near the verge of an almost precipitous descent, they sat down together under the shadow of a great gray rock.  From this point the view was more extensive than any they had commanded before.  The rolling country, with the sunset glory fading from it, lay like a panorama at their feet—­shadowy woods melting into blue distance, streams glancing here and there into sight, fields rich with cultivation bounded by fences that looked like a spider’s thread.  To the left Claremont, seated above its terraces, made an imposing landmark.  Behind it the moon was rising majestically in a cloudless sky.  After they had been silent for some time, Clare turned and looked at his companion.  “How beautiful you are!” he said abruptly.  “I wish I had a picture of you as you sit there now.  It would be worth everything else in the world to me.  But perhaps, after all, the best pictures are those which are taken on the heart.”

“You have forgotten,” said Eleanor, trying to smile, “that we are going to eat the lotos in order to efface all pictures.”

“Nay,” said he.  “I thought it was to enable us to forget everything but the present, and this is the present.”

“But it will be the past in a little while,” said she, “and we must forget it, like all the rest.  Victor, we must forget!  They say that all things are possible to resolution:  let us resolve to do that.”