it quietly until night, when
he would surely come himself to see me. Still I could watch his boat.
And nervously did I stand, my face pressed against the window-pane,
through the long morning hours, my sewing dropped neglected in my lap at
the risk of a scolding from my mother, watching the slow-passing river,
and the leaves hanging motionless over it in the stillness of the summer
noon. At last there was a stir on the opposite shore. Yes, the boat must
be in sight; I could even hear the shouts of the boatmen; and there,
rounding the bluff, she was; there, too, was Mr. Hammond in the stern,
with the rudder in his hand; there sat Miss Hammond, book in hand, with
her usual look of listless disdain. But whose was that girlish face
raised towards Mr. Hammond, while he pointed out so eagerly the
surrounding objects? whose that slight, girlish figure crowned with the
light garden-hat, with its wealth of golden hair escaping from under it?

A sharp pang shot through me. Some one was coming to disturb my happy
hours with my teacher and friend; and the chill of disappointment was on
me already. I saw the boat land, saw George Hammond assist carefully
every step of the strange girl, saw an elderly gentleman step also upon
the bank and give his hand to Miss Hammond, and in two minutes the trees
of the landing hid them from my sight.

And how slowly went the hours of that afternoon! how nervously I
listened to every tread, to every click of the gate! nay, my sharpened
hearing took note of every sway of the branches. But the day passed, the
night, and no one came. The next morning brought with it an impatience
which mastered me. I _must_ go, I must see him, and in five minutes I
was pushing my boat from its cove under the water-maple.

But I needed not to have left my room; my visit would be useless; for,
lifting my eyes, as my boat came out from under the leaves, there, on
the path by the river-side opposite, I saw the strange lady mounted on
Swiftfoot, her light figure set off by a cloth riding-habit such as I
had never seen before, the graceful folds of which struck me even then
with a sense of beauty and fitness. I could even distinguish the golden
curls again, which fell close on George Hammond's face, as he stood by
her side arranging her stirrup, his own horse's bridle over his arm. A
backward motion of the oar sent my boat under the branches again, and I
sat motionless, watching them as they rode away.

Two hours afterwar