had wandered half a mile from the mill, you found a sense of deep
solitude--found it in the shade of unmolested trees, received it in the
singing of many birds, for which that shade made a home. This was no
trodden way. The freshness of the wood flowers attested that foot of man
seldom pressed them; the abounding wild roses looked as if they budded,
bloomed, and faded under the watch of solitude, as if in a sultan's
harem. Here you saw the sweet azure of blue-bells, and recognized in
pearl-white blossoms, spangling the grass, a humble type of some starlit
spot in space.

Mrs. Pryor liked a quiet walk. She ever shunned high-roads, and sought
byways and lonely lanes. One companion she preferred to total solitude,
for in solitude she was nervous; a vague fear of annoying encounters
broke the enjoyment of quite lonely rambles. But she feared nothing with
Caroline. When once she got away from human habitations, and entered
the still demesne of nature accompanied by this one youthful friend, a
propitious change seemed to steal over her mind and beam in her
countenance. When with Caroline--and Caroline only--her heart, you would
have said, shook off a burden, her brow put aside a veil, her spirits
too escaped from a restraint. With her she was cheerful; with her, at
times, she was tender; to her she would impart her knowledge, reveal
glimpses of her experience, give her opportunities for guessing what
life she had lived, what cultivation her mind had received, of what
calibre was her intelligence, how and where her feelings were
vulnerable.

To-day, for instance, as they walked along, Mrs. Pryor talked to her
companion about the various birds singing in the trees, discriminated
their species, and said something about their habits and peculiarities.
English natural history seemed familiar to her. All the wild flowers
round their path were recognized by her; tiny plants springing near
stones and peeping out of chinks in old walls--plants such as Caroline
had scarcely noticed before--received a name and an intimation of their
properties. It appeared that she had minutely studied the botany of
English fields and woods. Having reached the head of the ravine, they
sat down together on a ledge of gray and mossy rock jutting from the
base of a steep green hill which towered above them. She looked round
her, and spoke of the neighbourhood as she had once before seen it long
ago. She alluded to its changes, and compared its aspect with