clouds to receive a consolatory gleam, softly
testifying that the sun is not quenched."

"Miss Keeldar, just stand still now, and look down at Nunnely dale and
wood."

They both halted on the green brow of the common. They looked down on
the deep valley robed in May raiment; on varied meads, some pearled with
daisies, and some golden with king-cups. To-day all this young verdure
smiled clear in sunlight; transparent emerald and amber gleams played
over it. On Nunnwood--the sole remnant of antique British forest in a
region whose lowlands were once all silvan chase, as its highlands were
breast-deep heather--slept the shadow of a cloud; the distant hills were
dappled, the horizon was shaded and tinted like mother-of-pearl; silvery
blues, soft purples, evanescent greens and rose-shades, all melting into
fleeces of white cloud, pure as azury snow, allured the eye as with a
remote glimpse of heaven's foundations. The air blowing on the brow was
fresh, and sweet, and bracing.

"Our England is a bonny island," said Shirley, "and Yorkshire is one of
her bonniest nooks."

"You are a Yorkshire girl too?"

"I am--Yorkshire in blood and birth. Five generations of my race sleep
under the aisles of Briarfield Church. I drew my first breath in the old
black hall behind us."

Hereupon Caroline presented her hand, which was accordingly taken and
shaken. "We are compatriots," said she.

"Yes," agreed Shirley, with a grave nod.

"And that," asked Miss Keeldar, pointing to the forest--"that is
Nunnwood?"

"It is."

"Were you ever there?"

"Many a time."

"In the heart of it?"

"Yes."

"What is it like?"

"It is like an encampment of forest sons of Anak. The trees are huge and
old. When you stand at their roots, the summits seem in another region.
The trunks remain still and firm as pillars, while the boughs sway to
every breeze. In the deepest calm their leaves are never quite hushed,
and in high wind a flood rushes, a sea thunders above you."

"Was it not one of Robin Hood's haunts?"

"Yes, and there are mementos of him still existing. To penetrate into
Nunnwood, Miss Keeldar, is to go far back into the dim days of old. Can
you see a break in the forest, about the centre?"

"Yes, distinctly."

"That break is a dell--a deep, hollow cup, lined with turf as green and
short as the sod of this common. The very oldest of the trees, gnarled
mighty oaks, crowd about the brink of this dell. In the bottom lie the
ruins