e sound of wheels. I
listened most anxiously, and the sound of wheels striking against stones
was certainly plain enough. "She comes at last," thought I, and for a
few moments I felt as if a mountain had been removed from my
breast;--"here she comes at last, now, how shall I receive her? Oh,"
thought I, "I will receive her rather coolly, just as if I was not
particularly anxious about her--that's the way to manage these women."
The next moment the sound became very loud, rather too loud, I thought,
to proceed from her wheels, and then by degrees became fainter. Rushing
out of my tent, I hurried up the path to the top of the dingle, where I
heard the sound distinctly enough, but it was going from me, and
evidently proceeded from something much larger than the cart of Isopel. I
could, moreover, hear the stamping of a horse's hoofs at a lumbering
trot. Those only whose hopes have been wrought up to a high pitch, and
then suddenly dashed down, can imagine what I felt at that moment; and
yet when I returned to my lonely tent, and lay down on my hard pallet,
the voice of conscience told me that the misery I was then undergoing, I
had fully merited, from the unkind manner in which I had intended to
receive her, when for a brief minute I supposed that she had returned.

It was on the morning after this affair, and the fourth, if I forget not,
from the time of Isopel's departure, that, as I was seated on my stone at
the bottom of the dingle, getting my breakfast, I heard an unknown voice
from the path above--apparently that of a person descending--exclaim,
"Here's a strange place to bring a letter to;" and presently an old
woman, with a belt round her middle, to which was attached a leathern
bag, made her appearance, and stood before me.

"Well, if I ever!" said she, as she looked about her. "My good
gentlewoman," said I, "pray what may you please to want?" "Gentlewoman!"
said the old dame, "please to want!--well, I call that speaking civilly,
at any rate. It is true, civil words cost nothing; nevertheless, we do
not always get them. What I please to want is to deliver a letter to a
young man in this place; perhaps you be he?" "What's the name on the
letter?" said I, getting up and going to her. "There is no name upon
it," said she, taking a letter out of her scrip and looking at it. "It
is directed to the young man in Mumper's Dingle." "Then it is for me, I
make no doubt," said I, stretching out my hand to take it