“A beautiful sunset. The sand-hills grow rosy in the light, the lake deepens from crimson to purple, the moon comes out like a silver sickle over the sandy sea. A thought seizes me as the shadows increase. Now is the time to entice the pink trout from their depths in the lake. I get out my fishing-rod and line, and, selecting two or three flies which seem suitable, prepare for action. My rod is only a small singlehanded one, and it is difficult to cast beyond the sedges, but the fish are rising thickly out in the tranquil pools, and, determined not to be beaten, I wade in to the knees. Half a dozen small trout, each about the size of a small herring, reward my enterprise. When I have captured them, the moon is high up above the sand-hills, and it is quite dark. “Such is the chronicle of the past day. By the light of my lamp inside the caravan I have written it down. It has been all very tranquil and uneventful, but very delightful, and a day to be marked with a white stone in one respect--that from dawn to sunset I have not set eyes on a human being, except my servant. “Stop, though! I am wrong. Just as I was returning from my piscatorial excursion to the lake I saw, passing along the road in the direction of the sea, a certain solitary horseman, who accosted me not too civilly on the roadside the night before last. He scowled at me in passing, and of course recognized me by the aid of the caravan. His name is Monk, of Monkshurst, and he seems to be pretty well monarch of all he surveys. I have an impression that Mr. Monk, of Monkshurst, and myself are destined to be better, or worse, acquainted.” CHAPTER III.--MATT MAKES HER FIRST APPEARANCE. Eureka! I have had an adventure at last; and yet, after all, what am I talking about? It is no adventure at all, but only a commonplace incident. This is how it happened. “I was seated this morning before my easel, out in the open air, painting busily, when I thought I heard a movement behind me. “I should have premised, by the way, that Tim had gone off on another excursion into the Jones’s territory, on the quest for more eggs and milk. “I glanced over my shoulder, and saw, peering round the corner of my white sunshade, a pair of large eager eyes--fixed, not upon me, but upon the canvas I was painting. “Not in the least surprised, I thought to myself, ‘At last! The caravan has exercised its spell upon the district, and the usual audience is beginning to gather.’ So I went tranquilly on with my work, and paid no more attention.