When they reached Yellowham Hill once more and began to descend at a foot’s pace, Richard broke silence.
‘I have seen and done a good many things in the course of my travels, but I have never come across so beautiful a spot as this, and none of my adventures have been so curious as the one which introduced me to you.’
‘Really,’ said Rosalie drily; ‘I cannot see that there was anything so very extraordinary in it. Even if Nigger had not had this accident we should have been certain to meet while you are staying at Mr. Sharpe’s.’
‘I wonder,’ said the young man, speaking half to himself and half to her—‘I wonder if I should have preferred to meet you first in your own fields—in a cornfield. But the corn, of course, will not be ripe for months to come. No, on the whole I am content. I said to myself when I was climbing the hill, “There is magic in this place,” and I felt it was home.’
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ said Rosalie. ‘What can it matter where one first meets a new acquaintance, and why should it be in a cornfield?’
‘I saw you first in a cornfield,’ said he.
‘But surely you were not in England last harvest time,’ she cried. ‘What are you talking about? You have only just said that you would like to have met me first in a cornfield, which proves—what is true—that you have never seen me before.’
‘I have seen you before,’ he murmured in a low voice.
‘Nonsense, nonsense,’ she cried sharply; ‘you must have dreamt it.’
‘Yes—I did dream—about you,’ he owned, glancing at her; and once more that curious look of wondering joy stole over his face.