I was outside the boundary of some upland farm.

I saw sheep cropping trefoil in a field on the other side of the brown hedgerow, and at a distance I saw the red-tiled roof of a farm-house.
I looked at my watch, and found that I had still half an hour to spare; so I went on towards the farm-house, bent upon seeing what sort of habitation it was.

In a solitary landscape like this, every dwelling-place has a kind of attraction for the wayfarer.
I went on till I came to a white gate, against which a girlish figure was leaning.
It was a graceful figure, dressed in that semi-picturesque costume which has been adopted by women of late years.

The vivid blue of a boddice was tempered by the sober gray of a skirt, and a bright-hued ribbon gleamed among rich tresses of brown hair.
The damsel's face was turned away from me, but there was something in the carriage of the head, something in the modelling of the firm full throat, which reminded me of-- But then, when a man is over head and ears in love, everything in creation reminds him more or less of his idol.

Your pious Catholic gives all his goods for the adornment of a church; your true lover devotes his every thought to the dressing up of one dear image.
The damsel turned as my steps drew near, loud on the crisp gravel.