Sweet wind that blows o'er sunny isles The softness of the sea! Blow thou across these moving miles News of my love to me. Ripples her hair like waves that sweep About this pleasant shore: Her eyes are bluer than the deep Round rocky Appledore. Her sweet breast shames the scattered spray, Soft kissed by early light: I dream she is the dawn of day, That lifts me out of night. OSCAR LAIGHTON. "FOR PERCIVAL." CHAPTER IV. WISHING WELL AND ILL. [Illustration] Lottie's birthday had dawned, the fresh morning hours had slipped away, the sun had declined from his midday splendor into golden afternoon, and yet to Lottie herself the day seemed scarcely yet begun. Its crowning delight was to be a dance given in her honor, and she awaited that dance with feverish anxiety. It was nearly three o'clock when the dog-cart from Brackenhill came swiftly along the dusty road. It was nearing its destination: already there were distant glimpses of Fordborough with its white suburban villas. Percival Thorne thoroughly enjoyed the bright June weather, the cloudless blue, the clear singing of the birds, the whisper of the leaves, the universal sweetness from far-off fields and blossoms near at hand. He gazed at the landscape with eyes that seemed to be looking at something far away, and yet they were observant enough to note a figure crossing a neighboring field. It was but a momentary vision, and the expression of his face did not vary in the slightest degree, but he turned to the man at his side and spoke in his leisurely fashion: "I'll get down here and walk the rest of the way. You may take my things to Mr. Hardwicke's." The man took the reins, but he looked round in some wonder, as if seeking the cause of the order. His curiosity was unsatisfied. The slim girlish figure had vanished behind a clump of trees, and nothing was visible that could in any way account for so sudden a change of purpose. Glancing back as he drove off, he saw only Mr. Percival Thorne, darkly conspicuous on the glaring road, standing where he had alighted, and apparently lost in thought. The roan horse turned a corner, the sound of wheels died away in the distance, and Percival walked a few steps in the direction of Brackenhill, reached a stile, leaned against it and waited. "Many happy returns of the day to you!" he said as the girl whom he had seen came along the field-path. Light leafy shadows wavered on her as she walked, and, all unconscious of his presence, she was softly whistling an old tune. The color rushed to her face, and she stopped short. "Percival! You here?" she said. "Yes: did I startle you? I was driving into the town, and saw you in the distance. I could not do less--could I?--than stop then and there to pay my respects to the queen of the day. And what a glorious day it is!" Lottie sprang over the stile, and looked up and down the road. "Oh, you are going to walk?" she said.