It was early June; roses bloomed on every hedge.  A season of dry weather had succeeded the showers of spring, the mornings were sparkling, the air delicious.  I arose early one particularly sunny morn, that I might take a walk, before the studies of the day commenced, to a natural lake which I had discovered about a mile from the Hall.

Herbert begged to accompany me, and I, who loved at times the quiet of my own thoughts, reluctantly granted his request.

We strolled out of the inclosure, and were leisurely wending our way over the road, when our attention was attracted by the sound of wheels emerging from a cross path.  A carriage rolled briskly in view.  The little hand of my companion, which I held locked in mine, trembled violently.

“Oh, Miss Agnes, Miss Agnes!” he cried, pointing to the occupant of the carriage, “there is Uncle Richard.”

As it neared us, the driver reined in his horses, which snorted impatiently as he paused, and a musical voice called out: 

“Hallo! you young varlet; where are you going so early in the morning?”

Herbert answered faintly, “I am going with Miss Reef to the lake.”

The gentleman at this reply waved his jewelled hand gracefully toward me.  “Miss Reef, I am happy to make your acquaintance.  So you are the young lady who has undertaken to be bored with my little nephew?”

“He is not a bore,” said I, smilingly, captivated by the grace and abandon of the traveller.  And truly his handsome countenance might have captivated a girl more experienced in the world’s ways than myself.  His was a gay, spirited face, complexion fair and rosy; full red lips, graced with a curling moustache; golden locks fit for an Adonis; sunny, dancing eyes, and a figure rather massive, but well formed.  Such was the impression I received of this “Uncle Richard.”

“Allow me to give you a seat in my brougham,” said he.

I thanked him, but refused.

“Bound on some romantic expedition,” he said, laughing; “I can see it in your beaming eyes.  Well, I suppose I must continue my solitary drive; but don’t tarry long at the dismal lake; hasten back, as I shall want a companion to chat with in the empty Hall.”

I found Herbert unwilling to talk about his uncle, so I tried to dismiss the new comer from my thoughts, and engaged with my pupil in gathering wild flowers and grasses wherewith to form wreaths and bouquets to adorn our school-room.  After rambling about for an hour, we turned homeward.

I felt quite excited upon reaching the Hall, and hurried to my room to smooth my hair preparatory to commencing the labors of the day.  If I stood over my mirror longer than usual, remember I was young, and had a laudable desire to please.  As I surveyed myself in the glass, I was guilty of a pleasurable cognizance of the figure and face reflected there.  The walk and unexpected encounter had given an unwonted brilliancy and vivacity to my countenance.  My cheeks glowed; my eyes sparkled; and from my chestnut curls depended wild flowers, and wreaths of Herbert’s twining; altogether a pleasing picture presented itself to view, which, without vanity, I was thankful to behold.