rd day preferred riding after sundown on the
road to Dale. He also thought nothing of it that they passed Jerome
Edwards again, and that shortly afterwards Lucina professed herself
tired of riding so fast, though it had not been fast for him, and
reined her little white horse into a walk. The sorrel plunged and
jerked his head obstinately when the Squire tried to reduce his pace
also.

"Please ride on, father," said Lucina; her voice sounded like a
little silver flute through the Squire's bass whoas.

"And leave you? I guess not. Whoa, Dick; whoa, can't ye!"

"Please, father, Dick frightens me when he does so."

"Can't you ride a little faster, Pretty? Whoa, I tell ye!"

"In just a minute, father, I'll catch up with you. Oh, father,
please! Suppose Dick should frighten Fanny, and make her run, I could
never hold her. Please, father!"

The Squire had small choice, for the sorrel gave a fierce plunge
ahead and almost bolted. "Follow as fast as you can, Pretty!" he
shouted back.

There was a curve in the road just ahead, the Squire was out of sight
around it in a flash. Lucina reined her horse in, and waited as
motionless as a little equestrian statue. She did not look around for
a moment or two--she hoped Jerome would overtake her without that. A
strange terror was over her, but he did not.

Finally she looked. He was coming very slowly; he scarcely seemed to
move, and was yet quite a distance behind. "I can't wait," Lucina
thought, piteously. She turned her horse and rode back to him. He
stopped when she came alongside. "Good-evening," said she,
tremulously.

"Good-evening," said Jerome. He made such an effort to speak that his
voice sounded like a harsh trumpet.

Lucina forgot her pretty little speech. "I wanted to say that I was
sorry if I offended you," she said, faintly.

Jerome had no idea what she meant; he could, indeed, scarcely take
in, until later, thinking of them, the sense of her words. He tried
to speak, but made only an inarticulate jumble of sounds.

"I hope you will pardon me," said Lucina.

Jerome fairly gasped. He bowed again, stiffly.

Lucina said no more. She rode on to join her father. That night,
after she had gone to bed, she cried a long while. She reflected how
she had never even referred to the matter in question, in her suit
for pardon.

Chapter XXVII

Lucina in those days was occupied with some pieces of embroidery in
gay wools on cloth. There were varied designs