that she had felt
last night--the expression of something new between them. She was in a
very divided state of mind. She had not told him he might take that
tone with her.

"There are two ways to the head of the valley," said the subject of her
thoughts. "Shall we take the circuit by the old priory, or go by the
moor?"

"By the moor," said Eleanor.

There, for miles, was a level plain road; they could ride any pace, and
she could stave off talking. Accordingly, as soon as they got quit of
human habitations, Eleanor gave Black Maggie secretly to understand
that she might go as fast as she liked. Black Maggie apparently
relished the intimation, for she sprang forward at a rate Eleanor by
experience knew nothing of. She had never been quite so well mounted
before. As swiftly and as easily as if Black Maggie's feet had been
wings, they flew over the common. The air was fresh, the motion was
quite sufficient to make it breezy; Eleanor felt exhilarated. All the
more because she felt rebellious, and the stopping Mr. Carlisle's mouth
was at least a gratification, though she could not leave him behind. He
had not mounted her better than himself. Fly as Black Maggie would, her
brown companion was precisely at her side. Eleanor had a constant sense
of that; but however, the ride was so capital, the moor so wild, the
summer air so delicious, that by degrees she began to grow soothed and
come down from rebellion to good humour. By and by, Black Maggie got
excited. It was with nothing but her own spirits and motion; quite
enough though to make hoofs still more emulous of wings. Now she flew
indeed. Eleanor's bridle rein was not sufficient to hold her in, or
make any impression. She could hardly see how they went.

"Is not this too much for you?" the voice of Mr. Carlisle said quietly.

"Rather--but I can't check her," said Eleanor; vexed to make the
admission, and vexed again when a word or two from the rider at her
side, who at the same moment leaned forward and touched Maggie's
bridle, brought the wild creature instantly not only from her mad
gallop but back to a very demure and easy trot. So demure, that there
was no longer any bar to conversation; but then Eleanor reflected she
could not gallop always, and they were almost off the plain road of the
moor. How beautiful the moor had been to her that morning! Now Eleanor
looked at Black Maggie's ears.

"How do you like her?" said Mr. Carlisle.

"Charming! She is perfection.