Before Tony had advanced a step she turned round and saw him. “Was it not strange, Tony?” said she, and she flushed as she spoke. “I felt that you were there before I saw you; just like long ago, when I always knew where you were hid.” “I was just thinking of that same long ago, Dolly,” said he, taking a chair beside her, “as I came up through the fields. There everything is the same as it used to be when we went to seek our fortune across the sandy desert, near the Black Lake.” “No,” said she, correcting; “the Black Lake was at the foot of Giant's Rock, beyond the rye-field.” “So it was, Dolly; you are right.” “Ah, Master Tony, I suspect I have a better memory of those days than you have. To be sure, I have not had as many things happening in the mean while to trouble these memories.” There was a tone of sadness in her voice, very slight, very faint, indeed, but still enough to tinge these few words with melancholy. “And what is all this writing about?” said he, moving his hands through the papers. “Are you composing a book, Dolly?” “No,” said she, timidly; “I am only translating a little German story. When I was up in London, I was lucky enough to obtain the insertion of a little fairy tale in a small periodical meant for children, and the editor encouraged me to try and render one of Andersen's stories; but I am a very sorry German, and, I fear me, a still sorrier prose writer; and so, Tony, the work goes on as slowly as that bridge of ours used long ago. Do you remember when it was made, we never had the courage to pass over it! Mayhap it will be the same with my poor story, and when finished, it will remain unread.” “But why do you encounter such a piece of labor?” said he. “This must have taken a week or more.” “A month yesterday, my good Tony; and very proud I am, too, that I did it in a month.” “And for what, in heaven's name?” “For three bright sovereigns, Master Tony!” said she, blushing. “Oh, I didn't mean that,” said he, in deep shame and confusion. “I meant only, why did you engage on such a hard task.” “I know you did n't mean it, Tony; but I was so proud of my success as an author it would out. Yes,” said she, with a feigned air of importance, “I have just disposed of my copyright; and you know, Tony, Milton did not get a great deal more for 'Paradise Lost.' You see,” added she, seriously, “what with poor papa's age and his loneliness, and my own not over-great strength, I don't think I shall try (at least, not soon) to be a governess again; and it behoves me to be as little as I can of a burden to him; and after thinking of various things, I have settled upon this as the best.” “What a good girl you are!” said he, and he fixed his eyes full upon her; nor did he know how admiringly, till he saw that her face, her forehead, and even her neck were crimson with shame and confusion. “There is no such great goodness, in doing what is simply one's duty,” said she, gravely. “I don't know that, Dolly.”