"For what else did I bring you to see it? Let me go down first, and take my hand."
I held it out to him; he tossed it back to me with a laugh.
"Do you imagine I want it?" he asked, looking piqued; "I have gone sketching in mountain-passes where there were paths more steep than in any English Leigh, let me tell you."
He insisted on preceding me. It amazed me to see how he kept looking back, looking to my steps. He reached the bottom first, and stood still to receive me. Spite of his remonstrative "Daisy!" I ran down the rest of the way. I paused on reaching the last ledge, and standing a little above him, I uttered a triumphant "There!" then lightly stepped down to where he stood.
"Yes," he replied admiringly, "I see: your head is steady, your foot as light and sure as that of any mountain maid. Ah! if I had but had you for a companion, when I was sketching alone in the Alps!"
"Will you have me now, and though these are not the Alps, sketch."
He sat down on one of the fallen rocks, opened his sketch-book, and began to draw the little fountain and the stern crags around. I sat by him to watch his progress; he made little; he was ever looking round at me, and breaking off into speech that had nothing to do with sketching.
"How old are you?" he once asked.
"Seventeen; ten years younger than you are."
He resumed his task, but his pencil was soon idle again; his eyes once more sought my face.