“Tall, straight, and well-formed; large in size, but shapely, hair brown with gray in it; in all the face a look of great power, reserved, but ready to act; eyes of changeable color, that took the shade of the emotion that chanced to come and look out of them; when unoccupied, cold, gray, and meaningless as a window-pane behind which no face is; and over all the countenance the look of great gravity, divided by but the slightest line from sadness.”

So Herbert described him; but he always used to add:  “Remember, this was only his body, and therefore no description at all.”

The girl?  Why, certainly, you shall know of her, and from the same authority: 

“The girl that was with this strange man was not a girl merely, but both girl and woman; for she was at that age when the sweet simplicity of the one, and the full charm of the other, come into union, and a time, at least, stand in attractive alliance.  She was of medium height, and perfectly formed.  Her hair was brown, as were her eyes, that were large and mild of look; and over all her face was such an expression of gentleness and peace as I never saw on any other woman’s face, and she loved the man with so great a love that it made her life and took it both.”

* * * * *

For a moment Herbert and the trapper stood looking at the man and girl, who were standing on the edge of the beach, looking silently at them; and then the trapper said, still standing in the boat: 

“We would not run agin ye so sudden-like had we seed ye, friend; and ef our company be not pleasant to ye, we will move on, and camp on some clump furder down,” and the old man placed his paddle against the beach as if he would breast the boat out into the pool.

“I beg you not to do so,” answered the man on the beach; “you have as good a right to this camp-ground as we, and I dare say a better one, as we are but strangers to the woods; while you, old man, look as if you had made them your home for years.”

“Ye speak the truth, friend,” replied the trapper.  “Yis, the woods be my home; and ef livin’ in ’em gives man a right, few would gainsay my claim.  Yis, it’s thirty years agone sence I hefted the fust trout from this pool, and br’iled him on the bank there,—­and a toothsome supper he made for me, too.  Lord-a-massy, boy,” exclaimed the old man, half turning toward his companion, “what a thing memory be!  Thirty year!—­and I’ve seed some wanderin’ sence then,—­but I remember as though I’d eat him last night jest how that trout tasted.  You’re sartin, friend, that we won’t distarb ye ef we come ashore?”

“No, no, old man,” answered the other, “come ashore, you and your companion.  Our camp is the other side of the balsam thicket there, and after you have built your own, we will come down and pass an hour with you, unless we should disturb you in your occupation or your pleasure.”

[Illustration:  “Come ashore, you and your companion.”]