ep, or whatever you do with them," he put
in, quickly.

"But I was going to refuse--very gratefully, of course--but to
refuse!"

"You couldn't; you couldn't be so unkind! I'll ride a hunter I've got;
he's rather stiffer than Adonis, and better up to rough work. I will
come to the stream where we first met and wait for you--shall I?"

He said all this as if the matter were settled; and with the sensation
of being driven still more strongly upon her, she raised her eyes to
his with a yielding expression in them, with that touch of imploration
which lurks in a woman's eyes and about the corners of her lips when
for the first time she surrenders her will to a man.

"I do not know what to say. It is absurd--it is--wrong. I don't
understand why--. Ah, well," she sighed with an air of relief, "you
will tire of it very quickly--after a few hours--"

"All right. We'll leave it at that," he said, with an exasperating air
of cheerful confidence. "It is a bargain, Miss Heron. Shall we shake
hands on it?"

He held out his hand with the smile which few men, and still fewer
women, could resist; and she tried to smile in response; but as his
strong hand closed over her small one, a faint look of doubt, almost of
trouble, was palpable in her violet eyes and on her lips. She drew her
hand away--and it had to be drawn, for he released it only slowly and
reluctantly--and without a word she left the shed.

Stafford watched her as she went lightly and quickly up the road
towards the Hall, Bess and Donald leaping round her; then, with a sharp
feeling of elation, a feeling that was as novel as it was confusing, he
sprang on his horse, and putting him to a gallop, rode for home, with
one thought standing clearly out: that before many hours--the next
morning--he should see her again.

Once he shifted his whip to his left hand, and stretching out his right
hand, looked at it curiously: it seemed to be still thrilling with the
contact of her small, warm palm.

As he came up to The Woodman Inn he remembered, what he had forgotten
in the morning, that he had left his cigar-case on the dining-room
mantel-shelf. He pulled up, and giving Adonis to the hostler, who
rushed forward promptly, he went into the inn. There was no one in the
hall, and knowing that he should be late for luncheon, he opened the
dining-room door and walked in, and straight up to the fireplace.

The cigar-case was where he had left it, and he turned to go out. Then
he