means of getting her quietly and harmlessly away so we could properly do
our work."

"But I didn't say so--not rightly; I made her think--"

"Never mind what you said or made her think. You did right, God knows.
We are all made to work out good--often when we think erroneously, just
as you made her uncomprehendingly do what she ought. If ever she grows
wise enough to understand, well and good; if not, no harm is done."

Cassandra listened, but doubtingly. At last she stopped her horse. "If
you can't use them, I feel like I ought to go back and explain," she
said. Her face gleamed whitely out of the gathering dusk, and he saw her
shiver in the cold and bitter wind. He was more warmly dressed than she,
and still he felt it cut through him icily.

"No. You shall not go back one step. It would be a useless waste of your
time and strength. Later, if you still feel that you must, you can
explain. Come."

She yielded, touched her horse lightly with her whip, and they hurried
on. The night was rapidly closing in, the thick, dark shadows creeping
up from the gorges below as they climbed the rugged steep they had
descended three hours earlier. They picked their way in silence, she
ahead, and he following closely. He wondered what might be her thoughts,
and if she had inherited, along with much else that he could perceive,
the Puritan conscience which had possibly driven some ancestor here to
live undisturbed of his precious scruples.

When they emerged at last on the level ridge where she had so joyously
laughed out, Thryng hurried forward and again rode at her side. She sat
wearily now, holding the reins with chilled hands. Had she forgotten the
happy moment? He had not. The wind blew more shrewdly past them, and a
few drops of rain, large and icy cold, struck their faces.

"Put these on your hands, please," he begged, pulling off his thick
gloves; but she would not.

He reached for the bridle of her horse and drew him nearer, then caught
her cold hands and began chafing them, first one and then the other.
Then he slipped the warm gloves over them. "Wear them a little while to
please me," he urged. "You have no coat, and mine is thick and warm."

Suddenly he became aware that she was and had been silently weeping, and
he was filled with anxiety for her, so brave she had been, so tired she
must be--worn out--poor little heart!

"Are you so tired?" he asked.

"Oh, no, no."

"Won't you tell me what troubles you? Let m