quickly, that having some hours of light before her, she thought she
would try another way of return, over a small bridge, which in fact
spanned the very water-course which ran through her glen; but being
arrived at this bridge, to her surprise she found it broken down. It
was only a single plank, and the wood had rotted and given way. The
brook was too wide and deep in that place to permit her to cross it, and
the consequence was, that she must needs go round more than a mile; and,
what added to her embarrassment, the evening, which had been fine, was
beginning to cloud over, the darkness of the sky hastening the approach
of the dusk. She had now farther to walk than she had when in the
village; and, added to the threatenings of the clouds, there were
frequent flashings of pale lightning, and remote murmurings of thunder.
But Tamar was not easily alarmed; she had been brought up independently,
and already had she recovered the direct path from the village to
Shanty's shed, when suddenly a tall figure of a female arose, as it
were, out of the broom and gorse, and stepped in the direction in which
she was going, walking by her side for a few paces without speaking
a word.

The figure was that of a gipsy, and the garments, as Tamar glanced
fearfully at them as they floated in a line with her steps, bespoke a
variety of wretchedness scarcely consistent with the proud and elastic
march of her who wore them.

Whilst Tamar felt a vague sense of terror stealing over her, the woman
spoke, addressing her without ceremony, saying, "So you have been driven
to come this way at last; have you been so daintily reared that you
cannot wade a burn which has scarcely depth enough to cover the pebbles
in its channel. Look you," she added, raising her arm, and pointing her
finger,--"see you yon rising ground to the left of those fir trees on