Lynde picked up the saddle and resumed his march on the town in the
happy valley. He had proceeded only a little way when he perceived
another figure advancing towards him--a figure not less striking than
that of the archaic gentleman, but quite different. This was a young
girl, of perhaps seventeen, in a flowing dress of some soft white stuff,
gathered at the waist by a broad red ribbon. She was without hat or
shawl, and wore her hair, which was very long and very black, hanging
loosely down her shoulders, in exaggeration of a style of coiffure that
afterwards came into fashion. She was moving slowly and in the manner of
a person not accustomed to walking. She was a lady--Lynde saw that at a
glance--probably some city-bred bird of passage, resting for the summer
in this vale of health. His youthful vanity took alarm as he reflected
what a comical picture he must present with that old saddle on his back.
He would have dumped it into the barberry-bushes if he could have done
so unobserved; but it was now too late.

On perceiving Lynde, the girl arrested her steps a moment irresolutely,
and then came directly towards him. As she drew nearer Lynde was
conscious of being dazzled by a pair of heavily fringed black eyes,
large and lustrous, set in an oval face of exquisite pallor. The girl
held a dandelion in one hand, twirling it by the end of its long, snake-
like stem as she approached. She was close upon him now; for an instant
he caught the wind of the flower as it swiftly described a circle within
an inch of his cheek. The girl paused in front of him, and drawing
herself up to her full height said haughtily--

"I am the Queen of Sheba."

Then she glided by him with a quickened pace and a suddenly timid air.