irer sights than this! I have travelled
over a great deal of the globe, but I have seen nothing fairer than our
old Trewinion fields at harvest time. Especially was this so beneath
the light of the harvest moon. I shall never forget it. As twilight
faded, a thin mist rose from the earth, which, as the pale moon's rays
shone through it, looked strangely beautiful. The corn moughs
(stacks), too, looked weird and ghastly in the dim light, while the
silver sea in the distance made a low, delicious music as it gently
rippled on the shore.

In the distance I could hear the men and women singing on their
homeward way some plaintive Cornish songs, which to me blended sweetly
with the low sighing of the wind.

Ruth and I had by some means became separated from the rest, and my
heart fluttered rapidly, for I had determined to find out if she loved
my brother Wilfred. It has never been my way to lead up slowly to a
subject. What I have to say I must blurt out at once, ofttimes in a
way that gives pain to those to whom I speak.

"Ruth," I said, "I have long wished to tell you something."

"Have you, Roger?" she said, cheerfully "then tell me at once, for you
have made me curious. What can you wish to say to me?"

There was no hesitation, no trembling in her voice.

She spoke as naturally as my own sisters might have spoken.

"Let us go home by Pentvargle Cove," I said, "and turn in at
Honeysuckle-lane."

"Very well," she said, gaily; "and you'll pluck some of the honeysuckle
for me, won't you? I can smell it from here; how delicious it is.
Wouldn't Wilfred enjoy this?"

She was thinking of Wilfred even now, when she was alone with me, and I
was about to burst out with an angry remark about my brother when I
looked down into her face.

To me it seemed like the face of an angel. Her large, lustrous grey
eyes had a far-away look in them, and an expression of sweet, placid
contentment rested on every feature. Never have I seen a face so
sweet, so beautiful. Tenderness, truth, purity were there, mingled
with courage, sacrifice, daring. It was a face never to be forgotten
when once seen. Never did I love her as I did then, and I could not
say angry words about my brother.

I have said I was clumsy in my mode of expression. I could say nothing
as it should be said; and now, when I felt I ought to be more than
usually careful, I was more than ever confused.

"Come Roger," she said, "what is it you want to tel