halfway up the slope, lying parallel with the ridge, the General Hospital, the largest of the three buildings, white marble, with Doric columns, and lower down, flanking it and facing each other, the Children's and the Incurables';—white marble, too, though smaller—the lines of each one perfect in themselves, yet made to conform and harmonize with those of the others—yes, I think the lines are really perfect, Lydia."
She smiled at him, though the moonlight flickering through the vines hardly revealed it. "So soon, Stewart?—perfect so soon?"
"It was inspiration, really," he protested. "I could work a lifetime and never get anything more perfect than those lines. I saw it, Lydia; I saw it! And then, one will view them brokenly—through a little grove of oaks and maybe a garden, in the court; I tell you, Lydia, it will be so beautiful it will be a place to get well in."
"I suppose Colonel Halket had an idea of that sort in mind," said Lydia, "when he made a bequest of that site looking down on the park—it's the prettiest view in Avalon—what sick people ought to have.—You're not going to shut it off from them with your grove of oaks, are you?" she asked with a smile.
"Oh, that won't shut it off much—and, anyway, it will be just as beautiful itself. It's going to be simply the loveliest thing in this part of the world. And when it's done—well, there will be other things—a new city hall and a new court-house sometime—and I'll have got my start at last."
Lydia was silent for a few moments. Then she said,—
"Stewart, it all may be as beautiful as you have planned it. But are you sure you can execute it?—are you sure you can make it something else than a mental picture? You would n't want to disappoint Floyd again."
"Oh, I'm sure," Stewart declared. "Why, I've been driving my men on it; the scheme is being worked out in
