John could not see Jess now, for she was hidden by a bush that grows on the banks of the streams in South Africa in low-lying land, and which at certain seasons of the year is completely covered with masses of the most gorgeous scarlet bloom.

His footsteps fell very softly on the moss and flowers, and when he passed round the glorious-looking bush it was evident that she had not heard him, for she was asleep.

Her hat was off, but the bush shaded her, and her head had fallen forward over her sketching block and rested upon her hand.

A ray of light that came through the bush played over her curling brown hair, and threw warm shadows on her white face and the whiter wrist and hand by which it was supported.
John stood there and looked at her, and the old curiosity took possession of him to understand this feminine enigma.

Many a man before him has been the victim of a like desire, and lived to regret that he did not leave it ungratified.