Meanwhile, Dorothy sat gazing out over beautiful Lake Coniston, wondering if she were really doing the right thing in persuading Marie-Celeste to confide in her, and unable to arrive at any decision. She was sitting on a little rustic seat down by the water's edge, which Marie-Celeste, with her passion for exploring new surroundings, had discovered the evening before, almost immediately upon their arrival at the Waterhead Hotel. It was here that Dorothy had counted on finding Marie-Celeste, and it was here that she was left alone with her thoughts while Marie-Celeste ran off on her self-imposed errand. It was a beautiful little sheet of water that lay there at her feet, with its densely wooded banks and its wilderness still uninvaded by civilization; and just across the lake the setting sun was crimsoning the chimneys and pointed gables of the only house upon that farther bank. It is this home that lends its own special interest to the little lake, for it is the home of that grand old idealist, Ruskin. It is just such a home as you would know that wise philosopher would choose, far from the haunts of men and all the devastating improvements of the age. A grand place, too, to work, you think; and then you recall with a sigh that the light of that glorious mind has well-nigh gone out, 'neath the weight of physical weariness and infirmity, and then the solitary home begins to look a little like a prison in your eyes, as you realize how glad its inmate would be to exchange it for the Palace of that King whose divine intent for the world he has so marvellously interpreted for us all in the days when soul was still master of hand and brain.