Good, quiet, uncomplaining mother Nature, long slighted and miscalled, still bides her time and draws to her bosom the most errant of her children.
The two walked swiftly across the meadow to the narrow bridge, he in front and she a pace or two behind.

There they paused, and stood for a few minutes face to face talking earnestly.

Alleyne had read and had heard of love and of lovers.

Such were these, doubtless--this golden-bearded man and the fair damsel with the cold, proud face.

Why else should they wander together in the woods, or be so lost in talk by rustic streams?
And yet as he watched, uncertain whether to advance from the cover or to choose some other path to the house, he soon came to doubt the truth of this first conjecture.