le
leading to a mansion on his right.

XV.

ON THE HIGH ROAD.

The house attracted Cary's attention by the beauty of its site and its
appearance of wealth and comfort. He at once concluded that it belonged
to some old French seigneur who, after the conquest of the Province by
the British, had retired to the seclusion of his estates, and there
spent the evening of his life in the philosophic calm of solitude. He
had no further curiosity about it, however, and would probably have
passed on, had he not casually caught sight of a couple of figures
coming down the stairs to the open space in front. The distance was
considerable, and the intervening trees broke the line of vision
somewhat, but he thought he could distinguish the forms of a young woman
and an elderly man. He tarried a moment longer to look on. Presently he
saw a horse led to the foot of the stairs, and the young lady assisted
to her seat in the saddle. The site stirred him considerably. A
suspicion--but it was only a suspicion--crossed his mind. What if it
were she? He dismissed the thought, however, as altogether too good to
be true. It was impossible that she should thus throw herself into his
arms. Half the romance of all this adventure would be lost if it had so
simple and easy a conclusion. No! He had to seek for her, he had to
toil, to wait, to suffer still more before he could expect to attain the
object of his desire. Thus do we add to our pain in the intensity of our
love's longings, and Cary took grim pleasure in magnifying his own
wretchedness. But somehow he kept his eye sharply fastened on the
distant rider. After conferring with the elderly man for some moments,
she drew herself up, settled herself in her saddle, and moved away from
the front of the house. The avenue of maples, at the foot of which stood
the young officer, lay directly in her path, and for a moment Cary
thought she would take it. She halted her horse at the head of it and
looked down toward the gate. She sat full in his sight. He sat full in
hers. She must have seen him, as he certainly saw her. Did they
recognize each other? O Love, that is so sharp-eyed ever, how perversely
blind it is sometimes. Cary should have pulled up his horse's reins,
cleared the fence and ridden like mad up the avenue. The lady should
have waved her kerchief in token of a tryst and cantered down the path
to meet her cavalier. Instead of which he sat dazed in his saddle, and
she quietly walke