it and ponder in silence, and
therein lay the joy of the saddle, when she could ride alone with no
groom to bother her, and watch enchantments unfold on the hilltops.

Once free of the settlement she rode far and fast, until she was quite
beyond the usual routes of the Springs excursionists; then in mountain
byways she enjoyed the luxury of leisure and dismounted now and then to
delight in the green of the laurel and question the rhododendrons.

Jules Chauvenet had scoured the hills all day and explored many
mountain paths and inquired cautiously of the natives. The telegraph
operator at the Storm Springs inn was a woman, and the despatch and
receipt by Jules Chauvenet of long messages, many of them in cipher,
piqued her curiosity. No member of the Washington diplomatic circle who
came to the Springs,--not even the shrewd and secretive Russian
Ambassador,--received longer or more cryptic cables. With the social
diversions of the Springs and the necessity for making a show of having
some legitimate business in America, Jules Chauvenet was pretty well
occupied; and now the presence of John Armitage in Virginia added to his
burdens.

He was tired and perplexed, and it was with unaffected pleasure that he
rode out of an obscure hill-path into a bit of open wood overhanging a
curious defile and came upon Shirley Claiborne.

The soil was soft and his horse carried him quite near before she heard
him. A broad sheet of water flashed down the farther side of the narrow
pass, sending up a pretty spurt of spray wherever it struck the jutting
rock. As Shirley turned toward him he urged his horse over the springy
turf.

"A pity to disturb the picture, Miss Claiborne! A thousand pardons! But I
really wished to see whether the figure could come out of the canvas. Now
that I have dared to make the test, pray do not send me away."

Her horse turned restlessly and brought her face to face with Chauvenet.

"Steady, Fanny! Don't come near her, please--" this last to Chauvenet,
who had leaped down and put out his hand to her horse's bridle. She had
the true horsewoman's pride in caring for herself and her eyes flashed
angrily for a moment at Chauvenet's proffered aid. A man might open a
door for her or pick up her handkerchief, but to touch her horse was an
altogether different business. The pretty, graceful mare was calm in a
moment and arched her neck contentedly under the stroke of Shirley's
hand.

"Beautiful! The picture is eve