desire to keep the peace, which, as her notice of Edward Walcott's
crimsoned cheek and flashing eye assured her, was considerably endangered.
The angler led the way to the spot which he had pointed out, which, though
not at such a distance from Ellen's companions but that words in a common
tone could be distinguished, was out of the range of a lowered voice.

Edward Walcott and the student remained by the oak: the former biting his
lip with vexation; the latter, whose abstraction always vanished where
Ellen was concerned, regarding her and the stranger with fixed and silent
attention. The young men could at first hear the words that the angler
addressed to Ellen. They related to the mode of managing the rod; and she
made one or two casts under his direction. At length, however, as if to
offer his assistance, the man advanced close to her side, and seemed to
speak, but in so low a tone, that the sense of what he uttered was lost
before it reached the oak. But its effect upon Ellen was immediate and
very obvious. Her eyes flashed; and an indignant blush rose high on her
cheek, giving to her beauty a haughty brightness, of which the gentleness
of her disposition in general deprived it. The next moment, however, she
seemed to recollect herself, and, restoring the angling-rod to its owner,
she turned away calmly, and approached her companions.

"The evening breeze grows chill; and mine is a dress for a summer day,"
she observed. "Let us walk homeward."

"Miss Langton, is it the evening breeze alone that sends you homeward?"
inquired Edward.

At this moment the angler, who had resumed, and seemed to be intent upon
his occupation, drew a fish from the pool, which he had pointed out to
Ellen.