ing on a
broiling July day. Behind the very house itself rose the mighty Snowdon,
towering high above the other mountains, whose lofty peaks were lost amidst
the clouds; before me was the narrow valley--"

"Wake me up when he's under way again," said the skipper, yawning
fearfully.

"Go on, Sparks," said Power, encouragingly; "I was never more interested in
my life; eh, O'Malley?"

"Quite thrilling," responded I, and Sparks resumed.

"Three weeks did I loiter about that sweet spot, my mind filled with images
of the past and dreams of the future, my fishing-rod my only companion.
Not, indeed, that I ever caught anything; for, somehow, my tackle was
always getting foul of some willow-tree or water-lily, and at last, I gave
up even the pretence of whipping the streams. Well, one day--I remember it
as well as though it were but yesterday, it was the 4th of August--I had
set off upon an excursion to Llanberris. I had crossed Snowdon early, and
reached the little lake on the opposite side by breakfast time. There I sat
down near the ruined tower of Dolbadern, and opening my knapsack, made a
hearty meal. I have ever been a day-dreamer; and there are few things I
like better than to lie, upon some hot and sunny day, in the tall grass
beneath the shade of some deep boughs, with running water murmuring near,
hearing the summer bee buzzing monotonously, and in the distance, the
clear, sharp tinkle of the sheep-bell. In such a place, at such a time,
one's fancy strays playfully, like some happy child, and none but pleasant
thoughts present themselves. Fatigued by my long walk, and overcome by
heat, I fell asleep. How long I lay there I cannot tell, but the deep
shadows were half way down the tall mountain when I awoke. A sound had
startled me; I thought I heard a voice speaking close to me. I looked up,
and for some seconds I could not believe that I was not dreaming. Beside
me, within a few paces, stood Isabella, the beautiful vision that I had
seen at Barmouth, but far, a thousand times, more beautiful. She was
dressed in something like a peasant's dress, and wore the round hat which,
in Wales at least, seems to suit the character of the female face so well;
her long and waving ringlets fell carelessly upon her shoulders, and her
cheek flushed from walking. Before I had a moment's notice to recover my
roving thought, she spoke; her voice was full and round, but soft and
thrilling, as she said,--

"'I beg pardon, sir, for hav