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166 verge of fever; but fortunately her misery ran into motion; she found relief in long, physically exhausting walks, and oblivion in the deep dreamless sleeps that followed them.

In this way the first cruel suffering of her wounded heart was dulled and soothed; and as the summer advanced she was more and more alone with nature. One day she was coming through a beautiful strip of woods, and she heard some person singing. It was a man's voice, but so clear and joyful, and so full of rich melody, that she could not but listen, and follow its merry strains. On the brink of a little dripping spring, half hid in a superb growth of purple foxglove, she found the singer. He was lying among the flowers, with his hands clasped above his head; but as Eleanor approached he raised upon his elbow, and said, "A good-afternoon to thee, Mistress Aske."

She looked at him, and all fear left her. The face was white and thin, but as candid as a child's, and though his clothes were ragged, and he was nearly barefoot, he did not seem to have any sense of his poverty, or any intention of asking alms.