e currents of the atmosphere were flowing freely once more, and
the crystal clarity that succeeded was pervaded by an increasing
chilliness. Before nightfall it would be quite cold, and doubtless the
smart little red coat, gay with its Persian embroideries, would be
brought into requisition.

For many a month afterward, whenever Lillian closed her eyes, she saw
that little red coat. Shutting out the light, the world, brought neither
rest nor darkness; instead, the long flaring vistas of gold and russet
foliage and gray crags and flaming sunset remained indelible, and amidst
it all one vivid point of scarlet hue as the little red coat was tossed
through the air like a red leaf flying in the wind.

Now, as all unprescient she watched the group, she thought again they
were gone. But no! Fairy-foot was a handful, even for so capital a whip
as Briscoe. He obviously considered that the boy would be more secure
stowed on the floor of the vehicle, half under the soft rug, and braced
by the firm foot planted on either side against the dash-board.

"How considerate!" the watching mother thought with a glow of gratitude,
noting the caution.

Suddenly the groom leaped aside; the splendid mare sprang forward; there
was a whirl of wheels, a whorl of rays as the gleaming spokes caught the
sunshine, and they were gone indeed!

"Oh!" cried Mrs. Royston, her eyes bright and soft with tenderness, "what
a delight for Archie! He fairly adores to go with Ned. He owes it to you
this time. You always took little things so much to heart."

"And great ones, too, to my sorrow," he said.

Her face changed. She was trembling once more on the brink of tears. She
looked up at him with earnest appeal. "I wish, Julian, that we could
forget the past."

"I do not," he returned, stern and grave, gazing far away over the
landscape.

"No," she cried in a sudden transport of painful emotion; "you hold it
against me like a grudge--a grudge that you despise too much to wreak
vengeance for its sake. The past will always live in your memory--you
hold it like a sword to my throat. You know that I shall always feel the
torture of its edge, but in your magnanimity"--with sarcastic
emphasis--"you forbear to thrust in the murderous blade."

"Good God, Lillian!" exclaimed Bayne, losing his balance altogether at
the accusation. "How have I arrogated magnanimity, or anything else? I
assume nothing! I have sought to efface myself while here, as far as
might b