"It was a very sudden affair. We were both hot and angry; but he is
smaller than I, and I should have done nothing had he not struck me,
and fallen upon me so that I was obliged to defend myself."

"Yes--to be sure--in that case," said Hope, still lingering, and
remarking the music of his voice. Abel continued--while the girl's eyes
saw how well he looked upon that lawn--the clustering black hair--the
rich eyes--the dark complexion--the light of intelligence playing upon
his face--his dress careful but graceful--and the port-folio which showed
this interview to be no design or expectation, but a mere chance--

"I am very sorry you should have had the pain of seeing such a spectacle,
and I am ashamed my first introduction to you should have been at such a
time."

Hope Wayne lingered, looking on the ground.

"I think, indeed," continued Abel, "that you owe me an opportunity of
making a better impression."

"Hope! Hope!" came floating the sound of a distant voice calling in the
garden.

Hope Wayne turned her head toward the voice, but her eyes looked upon the
ground, and her feet still lingered.

"I have known you so long, and yet have never spoken to you," said the
musical voice at her side; "I have seen you so constantly in church, and
I have even tried sometimes--I confess it--to catch a glance from you as
you came out. But I am not sorry, for now--"

"Hope! Hope!" called the voice from the garden.

Hope looked dreamily in that direction, not as if she heard it, but as if
she were listening to something in her mind.

"Now I meet you here on this lovely lawn in your own beautiful home. Do
you know that your grandfather permits me to sketch the place?"

"Do you draw, Mr. Newt?" asked Hope Wayne, in a tone which seemed to Abel
to trickle along his nerves, so exquisite and prolonged was the pleasure
it gave him to hear her call him by name. How did she know it? thought
he.

"Yes, I draw, and am very fond of it," he answered, as he untied his
port-folio. "I do not dare to say that I am proud of my drawing--and
yet you may perhaps recognize this, if you will look a moment."

"Hope! Hope!" came the voice again from the garden. Abel heard
it--perhaps Hope did not. He was busily opening his port-folio and
turning over the drawings, and stepped closer to her, as he said:

"There! now, what is that?" and he handed her a sketch.

Hope looked at it and smiled.

"That is the farther shore of the pond with the sp