each hand.

Mary started, but she did not lose her presence of mind, and her next
glance showed her that the apparition was not alarming, and was
nearly as much amazed as herself. It was a tall slight young man, in
a suit of shepherd's plaid, with a fair face and graceful agile form,
recalling the word debonnaire as she had yesterday heard it applied.
In instant conviction that this was the truant, she put out her hand
by the same impulse that lighted his features with a smile of
welcome, and the years of separation seemed annihilated as he
exclaimed, 'My cousin Mary!' and grasped her hand, adding, 'I hope I
did not frighten you--'

'Oh no; but where did you come from?'

'Up a hill perpendicular, like Hotspur,' he replied, in soft low
quiet tones, which were a strange contrast to the words. 'No, see
here,' and parting the bushes he showed some rude steps, half nature,
half art, leading between the ferns and mountain-ash, and looking
very inviting.

'How delightful!' cried Mary.

'I am glad you appreciate it,' he exclaimed; 'I will finish it off
now, and put a rail. I did not care to go on when I had lost the
poor fellow who helped me, but it saves a world of distance.'

'It must be very pretty amongst those beautiful ferns!'

'You can't conceive anything more charming,' he continued, with the