ng rapidly, with a light and
graceful motion, the dim figure of a young girl passed in front of him,
and the mist closed behind her, though he still heard her pious psalm.
Richard stood like one enchanted. Was she an angel sent to warn him of
his peril, or an evil spirit clothed in beauty and holiness to lure him
on to it? He gave a great shout, and the harmonious voice, already
faint, grew still at once. He cried out again: "I am a stranger here,
and have lost my way; pray, help me."

Then once more through the mist came the young girl, this time without
her song, and stood before him; she was very beautiful, but with a pale
face and frightened eyes. "She is crazed, poor soul," thought Richard;
and he smiled upon her with genuine pity. She put her hand to her side,
as though in pain, or to repress some tumult of her heart.

"Where is it you wish to go, Sir?"

"To Gethin; where there is an inn, I believe. Is it not so?"

"Yes, Sir." Her words were sane and concise enough, but the tone in
which they were spoken was tremulous and alarmed.

"You are not afraid of me, are you?" said Richard, in the voice that he
had inherited from his mother.

"No, Sir, no," answered she, hurriedly; "only the fog was so thick, and
I was startled. I did not expect to find any body here. It is very
lonely about Gethin, and we do not in general see any of the quality who
come to sketch and such like"--and she pointed to his portfolio--"until
much later in the year."

"I am not the quality," rejoined Richard, smiling, "but only a wandering
artist, who has heard of the beauties of Gethin. What has been told me,
however, comes far short of the reality, believe me;" and he cast a
glance of genuine admiration upon the blushing girl.

A slender fair-haired maiden she was, with soft blue eyes, over which
the lids were modestly but attractively drooped. One who had a great
experience of the sex--if not a very respectable one--has left on record
a warning against eyelids. "A wicked woman," says he, "will take you
with her eyelids."

It does not, however, require wickedness to ensnare a young gentleman by
these simple means.

"I wish, my pretty damsel," said Richard, softly, "that I painted
figures instead of landscapes, for then I should ask you to be my
model."

It was not modesty so much as sheer ignorance which kept the young girl
silent; she had never heard of a painter's model; but the tone in which
her new acquaintance spoke implied