But I am not sorry, for now--" "Hope! Hope!" called the voice from the garden.
Hope looked dreamily in that direction, not as if she heard it, but as if she were listening to something in her mind.
"Now I meet you here on this lovely lawn in your own beautiful home.

Do you know that your grandfather permits me to sketch the place ?" "Do you draw, Mr.Newt ?" asked Hope Wayne, in a tone which seemed to Abel to trickle along his nerves, so exquisite and prolonged was the pleasure it gave him to hear her call him by name.

How did she know it?
thought he.
"Yes, I draw, and am very fond of it," he answered, as he untied his port-folio.

"I do not dare to say that I am proud of my drawing--and yet you may perhaps recognize this, if you will look a moment." "Hope! Hope!" came the voice again from the garden.

Abel heard it--perhaps Hope did not.