[CHAPTER XXII.]
HARRY'S MUSINGS.
"What are you doing there, you young donkey,--your lessons not yet learned, and wasting time in this fashion?"
These were Harry's words addressed to his young brother. The boy was standing on an old wooden bench, gazing over the garden wall.
"I am looking after the girl who was here to-day with the people from Dobrotschau."
"Whom do you mean?"
"Why, the beauty; Olga--Olga Dangeri is her name. Come here and see for yourself if it is wasting time to look after her."
With an involuntary smile at the lad's precocity, Harry mounted upon the bench beside his brother, and, through the gathering twilight, gazed after a couple--a man and a girl--slowly sauntering along the road outside the garden. The man walked with bent head and downcast look; the young girl, on the contrary, held her head proudly erect, and there was something regal in her firm gait. The man walked in silence beside his beautiful companion, who, on the other band, never stopped talking, chattering away with easy grace, and turning towards him the while. The silhouette of her noble profile was clearly defined against the evening sky. The last golden shimmer of the setting sun touched her brown hair with a reddish gleam. She had taken off her hat and hung it on her arm; her white gown fell in long, simple folds about her.
"There! is she not lovely?" Vips exclaimed, with boyish enthusiasm. "I cannot understand Lato: he hardly looks at her."
Harry hung his head.