des of fretted amber, he found himself alone in the glen--with the
exception of a young lady who sat on the rocks a few paces distant. At
the first glance he thought it was a child, for the slight form was
habited in a Bloomer dress, and a broad hat shaded the graceful head.
The wide trowsers were gathered around her ankles, and a pair of the
prettiest feet he had ever seen dangled in the edge of the swift
stream. She was idly plucking up tufts of grass from the crevices of
the rock, and tossing them in the mouth of the cataract, and her face
was partly turned toward him. It was the fair unknown of the evening
before! There was no mistaking the lovely cheek and the rippled
chestnut hair.

Mr. Bartlett felt--as he afterward expressed himself--a warm, sweet
shudder run through all his veins. Alone with that lovely creature,
below the outside surface of the earth! "Oh, if I could but speak to
her! Her dress shows that she can lay aside the soulless forms of
society in such a place as this: why not I? There's Larkin, and
Kirkland, and lots of fellows I know, wouldn't hesitate a moment. But
what shall I say? 'The scenery's very fine?' Pshaw! But the first
sentence is the only difficulty---the rest will come of itself. What
if I address her boldly as an old acquaintance, and then apologize for
my mistake? Upon my word, a good idea! So natural and possible!"

Having determined upon this plan, he immediately put it into action
before the resolve had time to cool. His step was firm and his bearing
was sufficiently confident as he approached her; but when she lifted
her long lashes, disclosing a pair of large, limpid, hazel eyes, which
regarded him, unabashed, with the transient curiosity one bestows upon
a stranger, his face, I am sure, betrayed the humbug of the thing. The
lady, however, not anticipating what followed, could scarcely have
remarked it.

Raising his hat as he reached the corner of the rock upon which she
sat, he said, in a voice so curiously balanced between his enforced
boldness and his reflected surprise thereat, that he hardly recognized
it as his own:

"How do you do, Miss Lawrence?"

The lady looked at him wonderingly--steady, child-like eyes, that
frankly and innocently perused his face, as if seeking for some trace
of a forgotten acquaintance. Mr. Bartlett could not withdraw his,
although he knew that his face was getting redder and his respiration
more unsteady every moment. He st