“During the whole of this interview, Tim had not been unobservant, and so soon as I was left alone he looked up from the work he was engaged upon, viz. potato-washing, and gave a knowing smile. “‘Sure she’s a fine bold colleen,’ he said. ‘Does your honour know who she is?’ “‘I have not the slightest idea.’ “‘They’re saying down beyant that she’s a say-fondling, and has neither father nor mother, nor any belongings.’ “‘Pray who was your informant?’ “‘The man who picked her from the say--William Jones hisself.’ “That name again. It was becoming too much for flesh and blood to bear. From the first moment of my arrival I had heard no other, and I had begun to detest its very sound.” CHAPTER IV.--INTRODUCES WILLIAM JONES AND HIS FATHER. Our story is now bound to follow; in the footsteps of Matt, who, in quitting the presence of her artist-friend, walked rapidly along the sand-encumbered road in the direction of the sea. Skirting the lake upon the left hand, and still having the ocean of sand-hills upon her right, she gradually slackened her pace. A spectator, had he been by, would have doubtless observed that the change was owing to maiden meditation; that, in other words, Matt had fallen into a brown study. Presently she sat down upon a convenient stone, or piece of rock, and, resting her elbows on her knees, her chin in her hands, looked for some minutes at vacancy. At last she rose, flushing warmly, and murmuring something to herself. The something was to this effect: “His hands are as white as a lady’s when he pulls off them gloves, and he said I was as pretty as my picture.” I can only guess at the train of reasoning which led to this soliloquy, and express my opinion that Matt had well-developed ideas on the subject of the sexes. True, she was not above sixteen, and had little or no experience of men, none at all of men who were both young and good-looking. Nevertheless, she was not insensible to the charms of a white hand, and other tokens of masculine refinement and beauty. By a natural sequence of ideas she was led to stretch out her own right hand and look at it critically. It was very brown, and covered with huge golden freckles. The inspection not being altogether satisfactory she thrust both her hands irritably into the pockets of her jacket, and walked on. Leaving the lake behind her, she followed the road along a swampy hollow, down which the very shallowest of rivulets crept along to the sea, now losing itself altogether in mossy patches of suspicious greenness, again emerging and trickling with feeble glimmers over pebble and sand. Presently she left the road and came upon a primitive wooden bridge, consisting of only one plank, supported on two cairns of stone. Here she paused, and, seeing a red-legged sand-piper running about on the edge of the water just below her, made a gesture like a boy’s throwing a stone, whereon the sand-piper sprang up chirping, and flew along out of sight.