to tell.


"Dear little head sunning over with curls," were I to meet you
now, what would happen? Ah! to meet you now were too painfully
to measure the remnant of my youth.



CHAPTER X


AGAIN ON FOOT--THE GIRLS THAT NEVER CAN BE MINE

Next morning I was afoot early, bent on my quest in right good
earnest; for I had a remorseful feeling that I had not been
sufficiently diligent the day before, had spent too much time in
dreaming and moralising, in which opinion I am afraid the reader
will agree.

So I was up and out of the town while as yet most of the
inhabitants were in the throes of getting up. Somewhere too SHE,
the Golden One, the White Woman, was drowsily tossing the
night-clothes from her limbs and rubbing her sleepy eyes.
William Morris's lovely song came into my mind,--


`And midst them all, perchance, my love
Is waking, and doth gently move
And stretch her soft arms out to me,