been away from home. She had pretended not to
care. In spite of Ned's beseechings Clarence had ridden off on a wild
thoroughbred colt and had left her to an afternoon of agony. Vividly
she recalled his home-coming in the twilight, his coat torn and muddy, a
bleeding cut on his forehead, and the colt quivering tame.

In those days she had thought of herself unreservedly as meant for
him. Dash and courage and generosity had been the beacon lights on her
horizon. But now? Were there not other qualities? Yes, and Clarence
should have these, too. She would put them into him. She also had been
at fault, and perhaps it was because of her wavering loyalty to him that
he had not gained them.

Her name spoken within the hall startled Virginia from her reverie, and
she began to walk rapidly down the winding drive. A fragment of the air
to which they were dancing brought her to a stop. It was the Jenny Lind
waltz. And with it came clear and persistent the image she had sought to
shut out and failed. As if to escape it now, she fairly ran all the way
to the light at the entrance and hid in the magnolias clustered beside
the gateway. It was her cousin's name she whispered over and over to
herself as she waited, vibrant with a strange excitement. It was as
though the very elements might thwart her wail. Clarence would be
delayed, or they would miss her at the house, and search. It seemed an
eternity before she heard the muffled thud of a horse cantering in the
clay road.

Virginia stood out in the light fairly between the gate posts. Too late
she saw the horse rear as the rider flew back in his seat, for she had
seized the bridle. The beams from the lamp fell upon a Revolutionary
horseman, with cooked hat and sword and high riding-boots. For her his
profile was in silhouette, and the bold nose and chin belonged to but
one man she knew. He was Stephen Brice. She gave a cry of astonishment
and dropped the rein in dismay. Hot shame was surging in her face. Her
impulse was to fly, nor could she tell what force that stayed her feet.

As for Stephen, he stood high in his stirrups and stared down at the
girl. She was standing full in the light,--her lashes fallen, her face
crimson. But no sound of surprise escaped him because it was she, nor
did he wonder at her gown of a gone-by century. Her words came first,
and they were low. She did not address him by name.

"I--I thought that you were my cousin," she said. "What must you think
of