I was content to accept the dictum of Miles and to put the case and all
its gruesome details away from me.

When at length, wearied with the rapid pace and my horse giving signs of
laboring, I pulled him down to a walk and settled with a feeling of
tired comfort in the saddle, the buoyancy of youth had reasserted itself
in me and I felt at peace with the world.

I had turned about and was well on my way toward home again, given over
to pleasant thoughts about lighter things, when I overtook and passed a
woman riding by herself. I scarcely noticed her and would have continued
on without giving her a second thought if I had not heard my name called
after me. I stopped and looked back and, to my surprise, recognized
Belle Stanton.

She was approaching me slowly, patting the neck of her horse, that was a
little restive under her, and her manner betokened no consciousness of
anything unusual in her salute. For a moment I was doubtful of the
accuracy of my hearing, for I scarcely knew her, if it could be said I
knew her at all, the chance meeting at the trial furnishing the only
excuse for acquaintanceship; but my doubts were dispelled by her
friendly little nod as she came up with me.

Evidently she considered the acquaintance legitimate enough for
informality, even if I did entertain some doubts on the subject. She
looked well in her riding habit and sat her horse gracefully, and as she
swayed in her saddle, looked at me with a merry challenge in her eyes.

"You had rather ride with me than ride alone, had you not?" she asked
demurely, and I obediently wheeled my horse beside hers, as I assured
her the encounter was welcome; and while we rode on together, she told
me she had wanted to know me for a long time, and that she felt we were
old friends, though this had been our first real meeting, and many other
such things that a man likes to hear a pretty woman say even though he
knows she is fooling him.

"Don't you think," she said, "that people sometimes feel they are going
to like each other before they have ever met?" and she laid her hand
gently on my arm and looked up for my answer.

I have since tried to defend myself for the weakness of that moment in
which I was near being recreant to the memory of a friend, but I know in
my heart that there was no excuse for me except it be the witchery of
the woman and the charm of the occasion. She was pretty--awfully
pretty--and she knew all too well how to attract men, a