y as he arranged her straps and skirt.
At the final call every one sought his horse, mounted, and away they
went, chattering and laughing.

The run was one of the best of the season, and after it was over Jack
found himself riding by Miss Easton on their homeward journey.

Perhaps the others had ridden quite fast, or perchance these two had
gone at a snail's pace, but when half-way home they looked about them
and found that they were alone.

As far as the eye could reach along the wooded road no living thing was
to be seen. The sun was setting like a globe of fire, and the red shafts
of light penetrated between the straight trunks of the tall trees,
bringing them out black against the evening sky, while the soft breeze
moaned through their branches laden with the odors of hemlock and pine.

And this was the end. Another twenty minutes and the hotel would loom up
before them, and the little farce, comedy, or tragedy, whichever it
might be, would be finished. The curtain would fall, and the two
principal actors would disappear.

No art could have given a finer setting to this the last act.

Neither cared to break the spell, and so they rode in silence until it
seemed as if the intense stillness could no longer be borne. It was she
who first spoke:

"And so it is really good-by?"

For a long time he did not answer, but gazed steadily ahead of him,
looking into space.

"Yes," he said at length, "it is good-by; and it were better had it been
good-by three weeks ago."

"Why?"

He gave a little start, merely repeating the word after her in a queer
absent-minded way.

"Yes, why?"

"Oh, I don't know."

Again silence fell upon them both.

"Violet," it was the first time he had ever used that name.

Violet Easton turned in her saddle and looked straight at him, trying to
read something in those dreamy eyes. He met her gaze quietly.

"Why do you call me Violet?"

"Because--because--" He drew in his breath sharply, and hesitated.

"Because--" and she looked inquiringly in his face.

"Don't ask me; please don't ask me. I believe I am mad."

Again she let her eyes rest upon him with the same earnest look of
inquiry.

He turned away, and gazed absently into the trees and underbrush.

In a few minutes she again spoke. "Is this all you have to say,
especially--especially"--and she paused a moment as if searching for a
word--"if this is the end?"

Again he turned and looked at her. Their horses were now wal