She is delightful."

"She must learn to know her mistress," he rejoined, leaning forward
again and drawing Maggie's reins through his fingers. "Take her up a
little shorter--and speak to her the next time she does not obey you."

The flush rose to Eleanor's cheeks, and over her brow, and reddened her
very temples. She made no sort of answer, yet she knew silence was
answer, and that her blood was speaking for her. It was pretty
speaking, but extremely inconvenient. And what business had Mr.
Carlisle to take things for granted in that way? Eleanor began to feel
rebellious again.

"Do you always ride with so loose a rein?" began Mr. Carlisle again.

"I don't know--I never think about it. My pony is perfectly safe."

"So is Maggie--as to her feet; but in general, it is well to let
everything under you feel your hand."

"That is what you do, I have no doubt," thought Eleanor, and bit her
lip. She would have started into another gallop; but they were entering
upon a narrow and rough way where gallopping was inadmissible. It
descended gradually and winding among rocks and broken ground, to a
lower level, the upper part of the valley of the Ryth; a beautiful
clear little stream flowing brightly in a rich meadow ground, with
gently shelving, softly broken sides; the initiation of the wilder
scenery further down the valley. Here were the cottages Mr. Carlisle
had spoken of. They looked very picturesque and very inviting too;
standing on either side the stream, across which a rude rustic bridge
was thrown. Each cottage had its paling enclosure, and built of grey
rough stone, with deep sloping roofs and bright little casements, they
looked the very ideal of humble homes. No smoke rose from the chimneys,
and nobody was visible without or within.

"I want some help of you here," said Mr. Carlisle. "Do you like the
situation?"

"Most beautiful!" said Eleanor heartily. "And the houses are just the
thing."

"Will you dismount and look a little closer? We will cross the bridge
first."

They drew bridle before one of the cottages. Eleanor had all the mind
in the world to have thrown herself from Black Maggie's back, as she
was accustomed to do from her own pony; but she did not dare. Yesterday
she would have dared; to-day there was a slight indefinable change in
the manner of Mr. Carlisle towards herself, which cast a spell over
her. He stood beside Black Maggie, the carnations making a rosy spot in
the buttonhole of his wh