"Glorious!" responded Sawyer, after several moments of hesitation.
Enthralled by the peacefulness of the situation he had not cared for small conversation. Villard, evidently buried in thought, remained silent. He wondered what manner of girl was the Winifred of whom Parkins had spoken, but he asked no questions. He also wondered as to Parkins' intentions toward her.
"If the sunrise over the Alps is half as grand as the sheen on the waters reflecting this moon, I can see myself buying a ticket that way soon," said Parkins, airily. "Would you care to go along, Drury?"
The question went unanswered overlong, so absorbed was Villard with his own thoughts. Reminded of the fact that he had guests to entertain he sat up quite suddenly and gave attention to Parkins' query.
"All that is in the background with me. I've seen every part of it; been everywhere worth going. This is the spot where my dreams will come true. Here I will live—and here I will die."
"Right," agreed Sawyer. "I am glad you have come to stay. If ever a man needed comradeship it is myself. I shall haunt you, Mr. Villard, and your beautiful home, unless you agree to become a downright good neighbor who will swap visits often."
"I shall esteem it a high privilege to visit you, often," replied Villard. "You must come over the hedge every time you have the courage to choose a poor companion. Of late I have been so much alone that I need a course of training in order to become sociable. I'm willing to make a great try of it and will hope for success. You have seen me at my weakest to-night—perhaps you may never catch me again in the same mood, Dr. Sawyer. But I know you are a man of deep sympathies and that we shall be good neighbors."
"That, we must be," replied Sawyer fervently, "and now I shall be going for I am old enough in years to practice regularity. It is my bedtime—a little past the accustomed hour, so I will shake hands and be gone! We must get together soon again."
Then turning toward his fellow guest he bowed stiffly, but made no offer of his hand in parting.
"An ill omen," thought Parkins, as he threw himself into bed an hour later. "Things were not working just right," he admitted to himself, but that his goal should be reached in due time, he promised himself. "The pyramids were not built over night"—were his last muttered words before the cool air crept in from the Sound and sent him into a restless sleep.