order to survey the surrounding country, an outing before breakfast she
delights in, when all the world seems fresh and clean, and the humdrum
business of life is barely begun.

Passing down the wide oak staircase she comes across a friendly
housemaid who shows her the way through a conservatory to the garden,
such a lovely garden it is, with its broad walks, its green velvety
lawns and slopes, and its masses of old-fashioned dew beladen flowers,
the perfume of which fills the morning air. Her spirits rise as she
wanders on, drinking in with delight the surrounding beauty, so absorbed
is she in it that she forgets there is such a person as Jimmy
Dalrymple. Quack, quack, quack, go the ducks as she approaches the lake
on which they disport themselves, and gazes down at the sky therein
reflected and at her own image. But she is not admiring her youthful
face and the curly golden hair that stands like a halo round it. No, she
is sunk in a dream; the morning has called forth her greatest
aspirations; the striving after the unattainable; that comes to us all
sometime or other, when we feel that truly life is worth living, and
that there is something beyond, so great that we cannot grasp it, but we
feel it is there producing a great speechless longing within us while
our hearts throb and our pulses stir till we could cry for joy.

Such a state as this Lippa has reached, when she is suddenly brought
down from the elevated height to which her mind has soared, to the
outward circumstances of life, by the squeaking of a window which is
suddenly opened; she is so close to the house, that on looking up she
recognises the brown head that is thrust out for a moment. 'Tis enough;
the spell has been broken and she becomes aware that breakfast would be
a very acceptable thing, so she wends her way back to the house. Of
course everyone is full of the cattle show and the merits of Herefords,