What to do with himself he did not know! I asked him if this was the same young lady I saw a day or two before I went to town?
He really could not remember.

Was she a girl with dark hair and blue eyes?
I asked further.

He really couldn't tell what colour her eyes were.

He was very unobservant except as to the peculiarities of footpaths, on which he was an authority.
I thought with amazement and some admiration that Mrs.Fyne's young disciples were to her husband's gravity no more than evanescent shadows.
However, with but little hesitation Fyne ventured to affirm that--yes, her hair was of some dark shade.
"We had a good deal to do with that girl first and last," he explained solemnly; then getting up as if moved by a spring he snatched his cap off the table.

"She may be back in the cottage," he cried in his bass voice.
I followed him out on the road.
It was one of those dewy, clear, starry nights, oppressing our spirit, crushing our pride, by the brilliant evidence of the awful loneliness, of the hopeless obscure insignificance of our globe lost in the splendid revelation of a glittering, soulless universe.