fate which seemed to deny him incessantly an opportunity to hear
Belle-bouche's reply to his suit, had only inflamed his love. He
uttered mournful sighs, and looked with melancholy pleasure at the
thrushes who skipped nimbly through the boughs, and did their musical
wooing under the great azure canopy. His arms hung down, his eyes were
very dreamy, his lips were wreathed into a faint wistful smile. Poor
Jacques!

As he drew near Shadynook, the sunshine seemed growing every moment
brighter, and the flowers exhaled sweeter odors. The orchis,
eglantine, sad crocus burned in blue and shone along the braes, to use
the fine old Scottish word; and over him the blossoms shook and
showered, and made the whole air heavy with perfume. As he approached
the gate, set in the low flowery fence, Jacques sighed and smiled.
Daphnis was near his Daphne--Strephon would soon meet Chloe.

He tied his horse to a sublunary rack--not a thing of fairy land and
moonshine as he thought--and slowly took his way, across the
flower-enamelled lawn, towards the old smiling mansion. Eager,
longing, dreaming, Jacques held out his arms and listened for her
voice.

He heard instead an invisible voice, which he soon, however, made out
as belonging to an Ethiopian lady of the bedchamber; and this voice
said:

"Miss Becca's done gone out, sir!"

And Jacques felt suddenly as if the sunshine all around had faded, and
thick darkness followed. All the light and joy of smiling Shadynook
was gone--_she_ was not there!

"Where was she?"

"She and Mistiss went out for a walk, sir--down to the quarters
through the grove."

Jacques brightened up like a fine dawn. The accident might turn to his
advantage: he might see Mrs. Wimple safely home, then he and
Belle-bouche would prolong their walk; and then she would be compelled
to listen to him; and then--and then--Jacques had arranged the whole
in his mind by the time he had reached the grove.

He was going along reflecting upon the hidden significance of crooks,
and flowers, and shepherdesses--for Jacques was a poet, and more
still, a poet in love--when a stifled laugh attracted his attention,
and raising his head, he directed his dreamy glances in the direction
of the sound.

He saw Belle-bouche!--Belle-bouche sitting under a flowering cherry
tree, upon the brink of a little stream which, crossed by a wide
single log, purled on through sun and shadow.

Belle-bouche was clad, as usual, with elegant simplic