As he drew near, the sun was sending long, slanting beams of ruddy light athwart the amphitheatre, and dyeing the polished oak-leaves in rich tints of gold and orange. He quickened his steps, the sooner to reach the point whence sunset-splendors were to be seen to the best advantage; and upon which he had taken occasion to construct a low, rustic seat. To his amazement, it was already occupied. A lady was quietly seated therein, her cheek resting on her hand, her eyes (as he judged from her pose, for her back was toward him) fixed on the glowing sky. He stopped short, uncertain whether to advance or retreat. Nix--who had lingered behind, to make a feint of hunting a squirrel--settled the question for him. Coming upon the scene, he first sniffed the air, and then dashed at the intruder. Fearing lest his intentions might be unfriendly,--or, at least, that the lady would be startled by his sudden appearance,--Bergan sternly called after him;-- "Nix! Nix! Here! Come back, you scamp!" But Nix, if he heard, certainly did not heed. He was fawning upon the lady, in a way to indicate a previous acquaintance of considerable standing and intimacy. She, on her part, received his rude caresses quite as a matter of course, and cordially patted his rough head. Then she turned to Bergan. "Nix does not mean to be disobedient," said she, apologetically. "Only, he recognizes in me an older friend than Mr. Arling, and, perhaps,"--she smiled,--"a superseding authority." Bergan bowed. "He is fortunate," said he,--"that is, in finding a friend, old or new, where he did not look for one." He spoke with a slight bitterness of tone, in involuntary recognition of the fact that no such pleasant discovery was ever the reward of his own aimless rambles. At the same time, he looked curiously at the lady, seeking a clue to her identity. She had seemed to know him; yet he could not remember that he had ever met her before.