"No," he answered, frankly, "sea-side is to me the grand historic style of nature. I like the calm, homely woodlands and quiet valleys." "Yes, but you are going to sketch that little fall of water?" "Am I?" "For what else did I bring you to see it? Let me go down first, and take my hand." I held it out to him; he tossed it back to me with a laugh. "Do you imagine I want it?" he asked, looking piqued; "I have gone sketching in mountain-passes where there were paths more steep than in any English Leigh, let me tell you." He insisted on preceding me. It amazed me to see how he kept looking back, looking to my steps. He reached the bottom first, and stood still to receive me. Spite of his remonstrative "Daisy!" I ran down the rest of the way. I paused on reaching the last ledge, and standing a little above him, I uttered a triumphant "There!" then lightly stepped down to where he stood. "Yes," he replied admiringly, "I see: your head is steady, your foot as light and sure as that of any mountain maid. Ah! if I had but had you for a companion, when I was sketching alone in the Alps!" "Will you have me now, and though these are not the Alps, sketch." He sat down on one of the fallen rocks, opened his sketch-book, and began to draw the little fountain and the stern crags around. I sat by him to watch his progress; he made little; he was ever looking round at me, and breaking off into speech that had nothing to do with sketching. "How old are you?" he once asked. "Seventeen; ten years younger than you are." He resumed his task, but his pencil was soon idle again; his eyes once more sought my face. "Am I too near?" said I, "shall I sit behind?" "No, indeed." "What are you thinking of?" "I am thinking that it is getting very hot." His look sought the downs above. I said, I knew green nooks such as he would like. So we wound our way up the heights, and were soon in the open country. The scenery around Leigh was soft, woodland, pastoral, and no more. Yet Cornelius seemed to like those green slopes, fertile fields, and wide pastures; those shallow valleys, white homesteads, and fragrant orchards looking down from above, with now and then, in the open space between the dark outskirt of low woodland, and the golden green of sunlit scope opposite, a glimpse of azure hills melting soft and indistinct on the far horizon. But though he confessed it was very pretty, he found nothing to sketch. "Let me take you to an old ruin further on," I said, zealously, "it is so picturesque!" "How much further on, Daisy?" "Only three or four miles." "A mere trifle! but suppose we stay here?" We stood in a hollow, sheltered by a few stunted trees. "There is nothing to sketch here," I said. "So much the better; I want rest." "Then I know of a better resting-place close by." He submitted to my guidance, and I led him into an open plain, exposed to all the heat of a burning sun.