gle. No grass here gave sign
of a footstep. Soft lichen and unbending ferns kept the
secret, if they had one; the evergreens were noisy with birds,
but otherwise mute; the fog still settled down in the ravines
and hid whatever they held.

Thither Mr. Rollo at last took his way, after a moment's
observation: down the woody, craggy sides of a wild dell; the
thick vapour into which he plunged sufficiently bewildering
even to his practised eyes. Partridges whirred away from
before him, squirrels chattered over his head, but his
particular quarry Mr. Rollo could nowhere find. Through that
ravine and up the next ledge, with the sun rising hotter and
hotter, and breakfast long over at the Mountain House.

He found her at last so suddenly that he stopped short. She
was tired probably, for she had dropped herself down on the
moss, her cheek on her hands, and had dropped her eyelids too,
in something very like slumber; the clear brown cheek bearing
it usual pink tinges but faintly. The figure curled down upon
the moss was rather tall, of a slight build; the features were
not just regular; the hair of invisible brown lay in very
wayward silky curls; and the eyes, as soon could be seen, were
to match, both as to colour and waywardness. The mouth was a
very woman's mouth, though the girlish arch lines had hardly
yet learned their own powers whether of feeling or persuasion.
Very womanish, too, was the sweep of the arm outline, and the
hand and foot were dainty in the extreme. Neither hand or foot
stirred for other feet approaching, the pretty gypsy having
probably tired herself into something like unconsciousness;
and the first sound of which she was thoroughly sensible was
her own name. The speaker was standing near her when she
looked up, with his hat in his hand, and an air of grave
deference. He expressed a fear that she was fatigued.

She had half-dreamily opened her eyes and looked up at first,
but there was nothing 'fatigued' in the way the eyes went down
again, nor in the quick skill with which the scarf was caught
up and flung round her, fold after fold, until she was muffled
and turbaned like an Egyptian. Then she rose demurely to her
feet.

'I thank you, sir, for arousing me. Is Mr. Falkirk here?'

'No--I am alone. But you are at a distance from home. Can you
go back without some refreshment?' The words and the speaker
were quiet enough, but Wych Hazel's colour stirred uneasily.

'Yes. Don't let me detain you,