her saddle in front of the
garden gate, she breathed a sigh of keen pleasure.

"Oh, I have enjoyed it so much!" she said, as he looked at her
inquiringly. "Is there anything more beautiful and lovable than a
horse?"

As she spoke, she stroked the mare's satin neck, and the animal turned
its great eyes upon her with placid affection and gratitude. Drake
looked from the horse to the girl, but said nothing, and at that moment
Dick came out to take the horses down to the stables.

"Had a good ride, Nell?" he asked. "Wants a lot of coaching, doesn't
she, Mr. Vernon? But I assure you I've done my best with her; girls are
the most stupid creatures in the world; and the last person they'll
learn anything from is their brother."

Nell managed to tilt his cap over his eyes as she ran in, and Dick
looked after her longingly, as he exclaimed portentously:

"That's one I owe you, my child."

Nell laughed back defiantly; but when she had got up to her own room,
and was taking off the habit, something of the brightness left her face,
and she sighed.

"I am sorry he is going," she murmured to her reflection in the glass.
"How we shall miss him; all of us, Dick and mamma! And I shall miss him,
too. Yes; I am sorry. It will seem so--so dull and dreary when he has
gone. And he does not seem glad to go. But perhaps he only said that to
please me, and because it was the proper thing to say. Of course,
I--we--could not expect him to stay for the rest of his life in Shorne
Mills."

She sighed again, and stood, with her habit half unbuttoned, looking
beyond the glass into the past few happy weeks. Yes, it would seem very
dull and dreary when he was gone.

But he still lingered on; his arm got well, his step was strong and
firm, his voice and manner less grave and moody. He rode or sailed with
her every day, Dick sometimes accompanying them; but he was only
postponing the hour of his departure, and putting it away from him with
a half-hesitating hand.

One afternoon, Dick burst into the sitting room--they were at tea--with
a couple of parcels; one, a small square like a box, the other, a larger
and heavier one.

"Just come by the carrier," he said; "addressed to 'Drake Vernon,
Esquire.' The little one is registered. The carrier acted as auxiliary
postman, and wants a receipt."

Drake signed the paper absently, with a scrawl of the pen which Dick
brought him, and Dick, glancing at the signature mechanically, said:

"Well, that'