Little Corton stands a mile inland, and two miles nearer to Lowestoft than the old Manor House of Hopton.

Between the houses there is little pasture land, and I rode through fresh green corn with the dew still on it.

The larks--and they are nowhere so numerous as on our sea-bound uplands--were singing a blithe chorus.

The world was indeed happy that May morning.
The sight of the homely red walls of Little Corton nestling among the elms brought to my mind a hundred memories of the past days, wherein Isabella's parents had ever accorded a welcome to myself--a muddy-booted boy then, with but an evil reputation in the country-side.
Isabella had gone out, they told me, but as she had taken neither hat nor gloves, the servants opined that she could not be far away.

I went in search, and found her in the beech wood.