Below her stretched a valley of rich meadowland, of yellow cornfields, and beyond moorland hillside glorious with purple heather and golden gorse. She didn’t choose her man. The man turned at the exclamation, and so did several of the bystanders; but they could not make out who had uttered it. "And so you'll turn highwayman, will you, you young dog?" continued the carpenter, cuffing him soundly,—"rob the mails, like Jack Hall, I suppose. Steps to aid the descent, which was too steep to be safe without them, led to, a door on the opposite side. " "Ah, yes; that's all very well.
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