good hour for work, and with nothing but my pocket-knife and my
hands I began to clear away the space about that hammock. When I
left it, it looked as it used to look when it was my pleasure to
lie there and swing and read and reflect.

To approach this spot it was not necessary to go through my
grounds, for my bit of woods adjoined a considerable stretch of
forest-land, and in my morning walks from the mill I often used a
path through these woods. The next morning when I took this path
I was late because I had unfortunately overslept myself. When I
reached the hammock it wanted fifteen minutes to seven o'clock.
It was too late for me to do anything, but I was glad to be able
to stay there even for a few minutes, to breathe that air, to
stand on that ground, to touch that hammock. I did more than
that. Why shouldn't I? I got into it. It was a better one
than that I had hung there. It was delightfully comfortable. At
this moment, gently swinging in that woodland solitude, with the
sweet odors of the morning all about me, I felt myself nearer to
her than I had ever been before.

But I knew I must not revel in this place too long. I was on
the point of rising to leave when I heard approaching footsteps.
My breath stopped. Was I at last to be discovered? This was
what came of my reckless security. But perhaps the person, some
workman most likely, would pass without noticing me. To remain
quiet seemed the best course, and I lay motionless.

But the person approaching turned into the little pathway.
The footsteps came nearer. I sprang from the hammock. Before me
was Miss Vincent!