land; or had he, as he had sometimes talked of doing, gone in for
literature, and carried his wares to the London market? At that time his
wares had appeared to Allan Meredith likely to be worth a great deal;
but, with his three years' added knowledge and experience, he was now
inclined to estimate them somewhat differently. Verschoyle's intellect
had, indeed, revealed itself chiefly by fitful flashes, brilliant and
dazzling enough in their effect at the moment, but leaving no lasting
impression of very high powers; and this, with his mercurial
temperament, might render his success in the future doubtful.

Allan Meredith had proceeded some distance, and was beginning to think
that he must have passed the swing gate without noticing it, when, on
turning a bend in the lane, he saw a young girl walking in advance. He
quickened his steps a little in order to overtake her, and make inquiry
as to whether he was going in the right direction, noting, meanwhile,
her general appearance so far as to infer that she was a farmer's
daughter; or, rather, as he thought with a half smile, what a farmer's
daughter is conventionally supposed to be like. Thick leather shoes, a
plainly made gown of some light grey stuff, and short enough for country
walking; a large brown straw hat, with neither flower nor feather to
adorn it; and ungloved hands, in the one swinging by her side a strap
buckled round two or three tattered-looking books. After a moment or
two, he recognised something more. Taking note of the firm, light step,
the carriage of the head, the perfect ease and freedom of the tall,
graceful figure, he mentally ejaculated: "A lady; aye, and with some
individuality of her own, too!"

His step had evidently not been heard on the soft, springy turf, and he
was fast lessening the distance between them, some curiosity now
mingling with his desire for information, when she turned out of the
lane and passed through a swing gate. Here she paused for a moment,
looking back, and their eyes met.

Yes; just such a face as he, a dreamer of dreams, had sometimes pictured
to himself, but hardly hoped to see in the world of reality. A face too
grave and troubled for her years--she looked barely eighteen--but how
beautiful with its clear, steadfast eyes and general expression so
simple, frank, girlish, and, at the same time, so intelligent and
thoughtful! She was regarding him with a surprised, questioning look,
which reminded him that he was gaz