hore on this side. Without
the door was a dip-well of pure water, which possibly had supplied the
inmates of the adjoining and now ruinous Red King's castle at the time
of its erection. On a sunny morning he was meditating here when he
discerned a figure on the shore below spreading white linen upon the
pebbly strand.

Jocelyn descended. Avice, as he had supposed, had now returned to her
own occupation. Her shapely pink arms, though slight, were plump enough
to show dimples at the elbows, and were set off by her purple cotton
print, which the shore-breeze licked and tantalized. He stood near,
without speaking. The wind dragged a shirt-sleeve from the 'popple' or
pebble which held it down. Pierston stooped and put a heavier one in its
place.

'Thank you,' she said quietly. She turned up her hazel eyes, and seemed
gratified to perceive that her assistant was Pierston. She had
plainly been so wrapped in her own thoughts--gloomy thoughts, by their
signs--that she had not considered him till then.

The young girl continued to converse with him in friendly frankness,
showing neither ardour nor shyness. As for love--it was evidently
further from her mind than even death and dissolution.

When one of the sheets became intractable Jocelyn said, 'Do you hold it
down, and I'll put the popples.'

She acquiesced, and in placing a pebble his hand touched hers.

It was a young hand, rather long and thin, a little damp and coddled
from her slopping. In setting down the last stone he laid it, by a pure
accident, rather heavily on her fingers.

'I am very, very sorry!' Jocelyn exclaimed. 'O, I have bruised the skin,
Avice!' He seized her fingers to examine the damage done.

'No, sir, you haven't!' she cried luminously, allowing him to retain her
hand without the least objection. 'Why--that's where I scratched it this
morning with a pin. You didn't hurt me a bit with the popple-stone!'

Although her gown was purple, there was a little black crape bow upon
each arm. He knew what it meant, and it saddened him. 'Do you ever visit
your mother's grave?' he asked.

'Yes, sir, sometimes. I am going there tonight to water the daisies.'

She had now finished here, and they parted. That evening, when the sky
was red, he emerged by the garden-door and passed her house. The blinds
were not down, and he could see her sewing within. While he paused
she sprang up as if she had forgotten the hour, and tossed on her
hat. Jocelyn strode ahead