I am sorry I ran from school as I did,--I am sorry I wrote the poem,--I hardly knew what I was doing when I snatched the paper from your hands.

I suppose Richard hardly knew what he was doing when he stopped you at the door." I did not look up while I was speaking, for had I met an angry glance I should have rebelled.
"I am glad I have met you, Gabriella," said he, in a tone so gentle, I lifted my eyes in amazement.

His beamed with unusual kindness beneath his shading brows.

Gone was the mocking gleam,--gone the deriding smile.
He looked serious, earnest, almost sad, but not severe.

Looking at his watch, and then at the golden vane, as if that too were a chronometer, he turned towards the old oak, and throwing himself carelessly on a seat formed of a broken branch, partially severed from the trunk, motioned me to sit down on the grass beside him.