far from his own tent. It
was therefore with a feeling of great delight that he left the scene of
riot behind him, and, turning into a bypath that led up one of the
narrow ravines, opening into the larger valley, strolled several miles
into deep solitudes that were in harmony with his feelings.

The sun streamed through the entrance to this ravine, bathing with a
flood of light crags and caves and bush-encompassed hollows, that at
other times were shrouded in gloom. As the Irishman stood gazing in awe
and admiration at the wild, beautiful scene, beyond which were seen the
snowy peaks of the Sierra Nevada, he observed a small solitary tent
pitched on a level patch of earth at the brow of a low cliff. Curiosity
prompted him to advance and ascertain what unsociable creature dwelt in
it. A few minutes sufficed to bring him close upon it, and he was about
to step forward, when the sound of a female voice arrested him. It was
soft and low, and the accents fell upon his ear with the power of an old
familiar song. Being at the back of the tent, he could not see who
spoke, but, from the monotonous regularity of the tone, he knew that the
woman was reading. He passed noiselessly round to the front, and
peeping over the tops of bushes, obtained a view of the interior.

The reader was a young woman, whose face, which was partially concealed
by a mass of light-brown hair as she bent over her book, seemed
emaciated and pale. Looking up just as Larry's eye fell upon her, she
turned towards a man whose gaunt, attenuated form lay motionless on a
pile of brushwood beside her, and said, tenderly:

"Are ye tired, Patrick, dear, or would you like me to go on?"

Larry's heart gave his ribs such a thump at that moment that he felt
surprised the girl did not hear it. But he could not approach; he was
rooted to the earth as firmly, though not as permanently, as the bush
behind which he stood. An Irish voice, and an Irish girl, heard and
seen so unexpectedly, quite took away his breath.

The sick man made some reply which was not audible, and the girl,
shutting the book, looked up for a few moments, as if in silent prayer,
then she clasped her hands upon her knees, and laying her head upon
them, remained for some time motionless. The hands were painfully thin,
as was her whole frame. The face was what might have been pretty at one
time, although it was haggard enough now, but the expression was
peculiarly sorrowful.

In a few