ount and ride off nearly an hour ago."

"I have been in my room."

"I wish Doctor Frank would come," said Rose. "I like some one to make
love to me when I ride."

"Doctor Frank does not make love to you."

"Does he not? How do you know?"

"My prophetic soul tells me, and what is more, never will. All the
better for Doctor Frank, since you would not accept him or his love if
he offered them."

"And how do you know that? I must own I thought him a prig at first, and
if I begin to find him delightful now, I suppose it is merely by force
of contrast with your black-browed, deadly-dull baronet. Will you come?
No? Well, then, adieu, and _au revoir_."

Kate watched her mount and gallop down the avenue, kissing her hand as
she disappeared.

"My pretty Rose," she thought, smiling, "she is only a spoiled child;
one cannot be angry, let her say what she will."

Out beyond the gates, Rose's canter changed to a rapid gallop. She
managed her horse well, and speedily left the village behind, and was
flying along a broad, well-beaten country road, interspersed at remote
intervals with quaint French farm-houses.

All at once, Regina slipped--there was a sheet of ice across the
road--struggled to regain her footing, fell, and would have thrown her
rider had not a man, walking leisurely along, sprung forward and caught
her in his arms.

Rose was unhurt, and extricating herself from the stranger's
coat-sleeves, rose also. The hero of the moment made an attempt to
follow her example, uttered a groan, made a wry face, and came to a
halt.

"Are you hurt?" Rose asked.

"I have twisted an ankle on that confounded ice--sprained it, I am
afraid, in the struggle with the horse. If I can walk--but no, my
locomotive powers, I find, are at a standstill for the present. Now,
then, Mademoiselle, what are we to do?"

He seated himself with great deliberation on a fallen tree and looked up
at her coolly, as he asked the question.

Rose looked down into one of the handsomest faces she had ever seen,
albeit pallid just now with sharp pain.

"I am so sorry," she said, in real concern. "You cannot walk, and you
must not stay here. What shall we--oh! what shall we do?"

"I tell you," said the young man. "Do you see that old yellow farm-house
that looks like a church in Chinese mourning."

"Yes."

"Well--but it will be a great deal of trouble."

"Trouble!" cried Rose. "Don't talk about trouble. Do you want me to go
to that farm-hous