shoes. Her hands were shapely, with long fingers, and were very sunburnt and manifestly used to work.
As she stood there, with the western breeze playing with her dress and tossing about the stray ends of her raven tresses, I thought that I had never in my life seen anything so lovely. And yet she was only a peasant girl, manifestly and unmistakably, and had no pretence of being anything else.
She was evidently as shy as I was, and for a little while we were both silent. As is usual, the woman was the first to recover her self-possession, and whilst I was torturing my brain in vain for proper words to commence a conversation, she remarked:—
"What a lovely view there is from here. I suppose, sir, you have never been on the top of this hill before?"
"Never," said I, feeling that I was equivocating if not lying. "I had no idea that there was anything so lovely here." I meant this to have a double meaning, although I was afraid to make it apparent to her. "Do you often come up here?" I continued.
"Not very often. It is quite a long time since I was here last; but the view seems fairer and dearer to me every time I come." As she spoke the words, my memory leaped back to that eloquent gesture as she raised her arms.
I thought I might as well improve the occasion and lay the foundation for another meeting without giving offence or fright, so I said:—
"This hill is quite a discovery; and as I am likely to
