While thus occupied, and with a feeling of wonder, at the infinitude of living things around us, growing upon me, the apprehensions I had lately felt, dropped entirely out of my mind. In this way we went on. When we had got about three-quarters of a mile from the village we came to a turn in the mountain path, far removed from any dwelling, and where all was solitude and quiet. As we approached the corner, a young woman stepped forward from behind a projecting rock, and with a gracious look, and most engaging smile, presented my young friend with a carefully-arranged and beautiful bouquet. Could my eyes be deceiving me? No. It was no other than the exemplary young creature, who, only half-an-hour back, had shown so much and such becoming indignation. My apprehensions, then, and precautions had been unnecessary. But, in American phrase, ‘How dreffle smart’ to combine, in so prompt and graceful a manner, the credit of being good with the pleasure of being good-natured. Could anything have been better imagined in London, or Paris? So it seemed. But _honi soit qui mal y pense_. True, few can be as beautiful, few as keen-witted as the girl of Bethany. But also true that none could have been more free from thought of evil. ’Twas all for backsheesh. And where two rupees are a marriage portion—so much to them, and so little to us—whose heart would condemn the bare-footed young tactician? That day, as she returned to the village, her step, I can think, was lighter than usual. Perhaps she did not observe the mischief the locusts were doing to her father’s little plot of wheat.