All that Robin could discern was a strip of scarlet petticoat,
and the occasional sparkle of an eye, as if the moonbeams were
trembling on some bright thing.
"Pretty mistress," for I may call her so with a good conscience,
thought the shrewd youth, since I know nothing to the contrary- "my
sweet pretty mistress, will you be kind enough to tell me
whereabouts I must seek the dwelling of my kinsman, Major Molineux?"
Robin's voice was plaintive and winning, and the female, seeing
nothing to be shunned in the handsome country youth, thrust open the
door, and came forth into the moonlight. She was a dainty little
figure, with a white neck, round arms, and a slender waist, at the
extremity of which her scarlet petticoat jutted out over a hoop, as if
she were standing in a balloon. Moreover, her face was oval and
pretty, her hair dark beneath the little cap, and her bright eyes
possessed a sly freedom, which triumphed over those of Robin.
"Major Molineux dwells here," said this fair woman.
Now, her voice was the sweetest Robin had heard that night, the
airy counterpart of a stream of melted silver; yet he could not help
doubting whether that sweet voice spoke Gospel truth.
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