“What do you call this hill, Missie?” he murmured, as he recovered his breath. It seemed impertinent to use her Christian name quite so quickly; but no stretch of politeness could have induced him just then to utter the syllable Torp.

“Babylon Hill,” she replied quite naturally and easily; for she was less out of breath than he.

“Babylon? What an extraordinary name!” he cried. “Why Babylon?”

But at that she shrugged her young shoulders and contemplated the blue distances of Somersetshire. To her mind the extraordinary thing evidently was that anyone could be surprised that Babylon Hill was called Babylon Hill!

From the stile over which they were leaning a little field-path ran along the sloping greensward and lost itself in a small hazel-copse that overshadowed one end of a rounded tableland of turf-covered earthworks.