her approach, the boy quickened his, and for a time there was no change
in their relative position. Then again she quickened her pace--with an
ease which made her seem capable of going on to accelerate it
indefinitely--and was rapidly overtaking him. But as she drew near, she
saw he panted, not a little distressed; whereupon she assumed a greater
speed still, and passed him swiftly--nor once looked round or slackened
her pace until, having left him far behind, she put a shoulder of the
hill between them.

The moment she passed him, the boy flung himself on the ground and lay.
The girl had felt certain he would do so, and fancied she heard him
flop among the heather, but could not be sure, for, although not even
yet at her speed, her blood was making tunes in her head, and the wind
was blowing in and out of her ears with a pleasant but deafening
accompaniment. When she knew he could see her no longer, she stopped
likewise and threw herself down while she was determining whether she
should leave him quite, or walk back at her leisure, and let him see
how little she felt the run. She came to the conclusion that it would
be kinder to allow him to get over his discomfiture in private. She
rose, therefore, and went straight up the hill.

About half-way to the summit, she climbed a rock as if she were a goat,
and looked all round her. Then she uttered a shrill, peculiar cry, and
listened. No answer came. Getting down as easily as she had got up, she
walked along the side of the hill, making her way nearly parallel with
their late racecourse, passing considerably above the spot where her
defeated rival yet lay, and descending at length a little hollow not
far from where she and Francis had been sitting.

In this hollow, which was covered with short, sweet grass, stood a very