were brought in close companionship with Marian, remains to
be seen. It happened one Sunday afternoon in October that he saw Marian
take leave of her venerable escort, Colonel Thornton, at the churchyard
gate, and gayly and alone turn into the forest road that led to her own
home. He immediately threw himself into his saddle and followed her,
with the assumed air of an indifferent gentleman pursuing his own path.
He overtook her near one of those gates that frequently intersect the
road. Bowing, he passed her, opened the gate, and held it open for her
passage. Marian smiled, and nodded with a pleasant:

"Good-afternoon, Mr. Willcoxen," as she went through,

Thurston closed the gate and rode on after her.

"This is glorious weather, Miss Mayfield."

"Glorious, indeed!" replied Marian.

"And the country, too, is perfectly beautiful at this season. I never
could sympathize with the poets who call autumnal days 'the melancholy
days--the saddest of the year.'"

"Nor I," said Marian; "for to me, autumn, with its refulgent skies, and
gorgeous woods, and rich harvest, and its prospect of Christmas cheer
and wintry repose has ever seemed a gay and festive season. The year's
great work is done, the harvest is gathered, enjoyment is present, and
repose at hand."

"In the world of society," said Thurston, "it is in the evening, after
the labor or the business of the day is over, that the gayest scenes of
festivity occur, just preceding the repose of sleep. So I receive your
thought of the autumn--the evening of the year, preceding the rest of
winter. Nature's year's work is done; she puts on her most gorgeous
robes, and holds a festival before she sinks to her winter's sleep."

Marian smiled brightly upon him.

"Yes; my meaning, I believe, only more pointedly expressed."

That smile--that smile! It lightened through all his nature with
electric, life-giving, spirit-realizing power, elevating and inspiring
his whole being. His face, too, was radiant with life as he answered the
maiden's smile.

But something in his eyes caused Marian's glances to fall, and the rosy
clouds to roll up over her cheeks and brow.

Then Thurston governed his countenance--let no ardent or admiring
glance escape, and when he spoke again his manner and words were more
deferential.

"We spoke of the world of nature, Miss Mayfield; but how is it with the
world of man? To many--nay, to most of the human race--autumn is the
herald of a season no