Miss Flora Sturtevant was walking slowly along a lovely forest-road. It was near sunset, and the rays of light shot long bars of dusky gold between the tree-trunks. The robin, the thrush, and the oriole, still delaying through the warm autumnal weather, sang by starts amid the branches. The bright knots of ribbon upon Flora's dress, and the scarlet poppies in her hat, were touched and lighted by the glow, making all the hundred lights and gleams of the wood seem to centre about her figure. She carried in her hand a bunch of ferns and grasses, mingled with a few bright leaves; and she sauntered with the careless air of having come out merely for enjoyment.
The road had once been the county turnpike, but had long ago fallen into disuse. Now the trees met overhead, the grass and ferns had obliterated the marks of wheels, and, except for hunters or loitering pleasure-seekers, the way remained untrodden.
But Miss Sturtevant, idle and leisurely as was her mien, was not simply sauntering to enjoy the pleasure of nature. She was upon a diplomatic errand. Frank Breck had conducted her hither, and had turned back, that she might be alone to encounter a man who Breck knew was soon to pass this way. The lady was perfectly cool and collected. The idea of meeting in the forest a man to whom she had never spoken, and whose character she knew to be bad, seemed not to give her the slightest concern. Perhaps she expected Breck to remain within call; possibly her strong self-reliance made her insensible to fear.
At length the barking of a dog rang through the woods, and soon sounds of some one approaching were heard. Miss Sturtevant's lips closed with an expression of firmness, over which, however, instantly spread the veil of a smile. Shading her eyes with her hand, and half-turning where she stood, she looked off through the leafy spaces towards the setting sun, conscious that the first glimpse the new-comer caught of her would give him her figure at its best. So absorbed was she in gazing at the sunset, that she apparently did not hear the approaching stranger until he was within half a dozen feet of her. Then she turned suddenly, just as the dog ran up to her. She uttered a little exclamation of surprise.
"How you startled me!" she said, stooping to caress the dog, a handsome pointer. "What a lovely dog you are!"
"He is a kind o' handsome pup," the hunter said, replying to the remark addressed to his dog,—"handsome for a pup, that is," he added guardedly.
"Oh!" cried Flora, catching sight of the game which the man carried. "Oh, how perfectly lovely the necks of those birds are! What are they? What a fine shot you must be!"
"Well, middlin'," he answered, evidently flattered. "Them partridges was terrible shy."
"I've wanted a heron all summer," remarked she, still admiring the glossy necks of the birds. "The feathers, I mean; but I didn't know anybody who could shoot one."