Olivia Holland was on the island, and all the age was gold.
In Yaque or on the continents there can be no manner of doubt that
this is love, as Love itself loves to be.
They emerged in the appeasing air of that perfect morning, and the
sweetness of the flowering trees was everywhere, and wide roads
pointed invitingly to undiscovered bournes, and overhead in the
curving wind floated the flags and streamers of those joyous, wizard
colours.
They went out into the rejoicing world, and it was like penetrating
at last into the heart of that "land a great way off" which holds
captive the wistful thought of the children of earth, and reveals
itself as elusively as ecstasy. If one can remember some journey
that he has taken long ago--Long Ago and Far Away are the great
touchstones--and can remember the glamourie of the hour and forget
the substructure of events, if he can recall the pattern and forget
the fabric, then he will understand the spirit that informed that
first morning in Yaque. It was a morning all compact of wonder and
delight--wonder at that which half-revealed itself, delight in the
ever-present possibility that here, there, at any moment, Olivia
Holland might be met.
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