"I do not think so. It will rather afford subject for pleasant reflection."
"Claude," she cried suddenly, "what is that lying over there by the hedge? It—it looks so strange."
He glanced carelessly in the direction indicated. "I can see nothing," he replied. "My eyes are not so bright as yours."
"Look again, Claude. It is something living, moving—something human I am sure! What can it be?"
He did look again, shading his eyes from the sun. "There is something," he said slowly, "but I cannot tell what it is."
"Let us see, Claude; it may be some one ill. Who could it be in the fields at this time of the morning?"
"I would rather you did not go," said Claude; "you do not know who it may be. Let me go alone."
But she would not agree to it; and as they stood there, they heard a faint moan.
"Claude," cried the girl, in deep distress, "some one is ill or hurt; let us go and render assistance."
He saw that she was bent upon it and held out his hand to help her over the stile. Then when they were in the meadow, and under the hedge, screened from sight by rich, trailing woodbines, they saw the figure of a woman.