"The god of love," she murmured softly. "And his altar and shrine are fallen!"
"But not his worship," replied Paul. "That is eternal."
Barbara averted her eyes, and trembled with a sweet feeling.
They sat down on a fallen column beneath the shadow cast by a graceful palm. Before them lay the bay they had just crossed,—a blue semicircular mirror, the Illyrian mountains forming a picturesque background.
Paul and Barbara sat drinking in the deep beauty of the scene. In the boat their conversation had been lively and unrestrained, but now a silence lay on both.
Barbara was the first to speak.
"I think," she murmured dreamily, gazing at the sky, "that the loveliest part of heaven must be above this isle."
Paul glanced at her inquiringly, not quite comprehending her remark.
"The Arabian poets," she continued, "assert that the fairest spot on earth is situated beneath the fairest spot in heaven, the earthly, as it were, being a reflex of the heavenly."
"A pretty idea!" said Paul. "With me, however, the fairest place on earth is not a fixed, but a moveable point."