And there they were lifted, and dwelt.
“We are approaching the lilies now,” said Basil, feeling that he must break the deep spiritual atmosphere into which they were all passing. “We must keep on the earth-side a little longer,” he said, playfully.
“Long enough to gather some of these beautiful lilies at least,” said his sister, as she gazed lovingly into his deep, tender eyes.
He swung the boat round, and gathering a handful, threw them at the feet of Dawn.
“I will twine you a garland,” said Beatrice, taking some of the lilies and weaving their long stems together.
“No, no. There are but few who can wear lilies alone, Miss Bernard. Some may wear them, but not I.”
“You are not the best judge, perhaps, as to what becomes your spiritual and physical nature,” said Basil.
“I know my states, and that lilies are not suited to my present condition,” answered Dawn.
“Since you will not be crowned, Miss Wyman, will you please pass that basket? I think we all need to descend into more normal conditions; we are too sublimated.” Following this suggestion he allowed the boat to float without guidance, while they partook of the delicate yet substantial repast.
The evening carnation tinged the clouds about the setting sun as they sailed homeward, gathering lilies on their way. The bells from a village near by were ringing, and the sound came distinctly over the water, musical and sweet to the ear.