Now, don't finish the sentence for me by saying I lost my heart. I did no such thing; but I own that a very clear picture of this stray Nereid is imprinted on my mind. I have not seen her since that morning, so, to convince myself that she was of mortal mould, I asked my friend the tinker about her. It seems she is the daughter of a Dr. Merle, and leads a kind of huntress-life in the woods and on the moors. Tim--my reality of the Flaming Tinman--waxed enthusiastic over her knowledge of wood-lore, her perfect swimming, her straight shooting, and various other accomplishments less feminine than masculine. He concluded by warning me not to fall in love if I did not mean to marry her. Did you ever hear such rubbish?--as though I were a wolf in disguise, on the prowl for maidens of tender years! I doubt whether I shall ever see her again, and I can only remember her as Aurora coming up through the Gates of Dawn. No! I have not the slightest wish to play the part of Tithonus, though I swear she is lovely enough to snare a less inflammable person than myself. To speak seriously, I should like to see this girl again. She must be a very original creature to lead the life she does. I detest masculine women. Yet this Diana of Farbis piques my curiosity. Still, I shall not go out of my way to court Fate. If I meet Diana, it must be by chance; but, as I leave here in three days, I doubt whether I shall set eyes on her again. If I see her, if I fall in love with her, if I marry her, what would you say? But then, you see, I say "if"! "Much virtue in that little word," as sage Touchstone remarks. If you remember, we jested on the probability of my meeting with a wife on my travels. What if this unknown nymph should prove to be my fate in the marriage-market? Mother Jericho, the gipsy sybil, hinted pretty strongly that she whom I met at the Gates of Dawn would become my wife. Well, I met this Diana, this Rosalind, this Meg--not Merrilies, but Merle--the doctor's daughter. There is not the slightest chance of my introducing her to you in such a _rôle_, I assure you. I have no belief in palmistry, nor, for the matter of that, in _mésalliances_. But enough of women and love and guesses at the future. I must tell you of my fight with the tinker--or, rather, I would tell you had I the genius of Homer or the pen of Lavengro. I have neither. I fought a battle with him out of sheer love of fighting. There was no ill will on either side. We simply put on the gloves for a jest, and he was as eager as I to see who was the better man. Neither of us won, so I suppose we are about equal. Some fine day I'll have another bout with him, and see if I can't come off victorious. Tim is no mean foe, I assure you.