there uncovered, as usual, but this time he did not withdraw
his eyes from her face. And when he spoke it was in a new
tone, very pleasant, though laying aside a certain distance
and form with which he had hitherto addressed her.

'Do you know,' he said, 'I begin to think I have known you in
a former state of existence?'

'What sort of a person were you in a former state, Mr. Rollo?'

'I see the knowledge was not mutual. I am sorry.--This is a
pleasant place!'

'This identical grey rock?'

'Don't you think so?'--in a tone which assumed the proposition.

'Very,' said Wych Hazel with a demure face;--'I do not know
which abound most--the pleasures of Hope, Memory, or
Imagination. But I thought perhaps you meant the mountain.'

'The pleasures of the Present, then, you do not perceive?'
said Mr. Rollo, peering about very busily among the trees and
rocks in his vicinity.

'Poor Hope and Imagination!' said Miss Hazel,--'must they be
banished to the "former state?" Memory does hold a sort of
middle ground.'

'There isn't much of that sort of ground here,' said Mr.