like to lay bare my selfishness; but the truth is,
there are some rare plants in terribly inaccessible places, which can
only be reached by creatures in male attire. In fact, I was trying to
secure one of these on the Eagle Cliff when I fell, and was so nearly
killed at the time you rescued me."

"Pray don't give the little service I rendered so dignified a name as
`rescue.' But it rejoices me to know that I can be of further service
to you--all the more that you are now so helpless; for if you found
climbing the precipices difficult before, you will find it impossible
now with your injured arm. By the way, I was very glad to find that I
had been mistaken in thinking that your arm was broken. Has it given
you much pain?"

"Yes, a good deal; but I am very, very thankful it was no worse. And
now I must show you some of the plants I have been trying to bring up
since I came here," said Milly, with animation. "Of course, I cannot
walk about to show them to you, so I will point them out, and ask you to
fetch the pots--that is, if you have nothing better to do, and won't be
bored."

Barret protested earnestly that he had nothing--_could_ have nothing--
better to do, and that even if he had he wouldn't do it. As for being
bored, the idea of such a state of mind being possible in the
circumstances was ridiculous.

Milly was rejoiced. Here she had unexpectedly found a friend to
sympathise with her intelligently. Her uncle, she was well aware,
sympathised with her heartily, but not intelligently; for his knowledge
of botany, he told her frankly, was inferior to that of a tom-cat, and
he was capable of little more in that line than to distinguish the
difference between a cabbage and a potato.

At it, therefore, the two young people went with real enthusiasm--we
might almost say with red-hot enthusiasm--for botany was only a
superstructure, so to speak, love being the foundation of the whole
affair.

But let not the reader jump to hasty conclusions. Barret and Milly,
being young and inexperienced, were absolutely ignorant at that time of
the true state of matters. Both were earnest and straightforward--both
were ardently fond of botany, and neither, up to that period, had known
what it was to fall in love. What more natural, then, than that they
should attribute their condition to botany? There is, indeed, a sense
in which their idea was correct, for sympathy is one of the most
precious seeds with which poor hu