on her bridle: "Betty, why do you avoid me so persistently, and why are
you so reserved with me? Is it because, knowing that you are becoming
all the world to me, you would by avoidance and reserve spare me the
pain of refusing my love? It is now nearly ten months since I first
began to realize what you are to me, and that knowledge has become
everything."

"No! no! do not speak! Please, please do not!" she remonstrated, her
face flushing and then paling.

"Why will you not let me speak?" he continued gently.

"Oh, not--not now," she murmured stammeringly. "I--I--I could not bear
it. I can not listen--yet," she ended, her eyes filling with tears.

Her manner, though it had something of a proud reserve, was not wholly
unrelenting. In her voice there was a winning cadence which seemed to
bid him hope. He understood her at once. She did not want to silence
him entirely, but it was too soon--that was what she meant--too soon
after his feeling for her cousin. She owed it to her own womanly
dignity that his love should be put to the proof of time. She must not
be too easily won. Yes, Abner felt that he understood her. Instantly
the look of deprecating humility vanished from the young man's face,
and in its stead there flashed into his eyes an eager, courageous
light; for renewed hope was sending the warm blood leaping and dancing
through his veins; and the humble, dejected suppliant of the moment
before was transformed into the hopeful, assured lover.

For a time he said nothing, but, with his hand still upon her bridle,
they rode on silently through the twilight of the forest aisle, where
all was so still and peaceful that their fast heart-throbs seemed
almost audible. Pledges more definite and binding might afterwards be
exchanged, yet in the hearts of these two lovers this solemn temple of
nature was forever consecrated as the place of plighting.

"I will wait, Betty," he said presently; "but do not keep me too long
in suspense. Remember how long I have already waited for you. When may
I speak?"

"Oh, I--I don't know--not for a long time yet." Then, regaining her
old, saucy air, and flashing into his eyes one glance, half tender,
half defiant, she snatched her bridle-rein from his hand, and, with a
flick of the switch across her horse's neck, rode on. As she galloped
off, she looked back for an instant to say archly, "Spring is very
beautiful; but I like autumn better, and November is my favorite month,
for Thanksg