till holding up naked
gray branches among it; here and there a white cloud of cherry blossom,
shining in a clearing or floating mistily amid bursting tree-tops below
them. They turned to the right, down a narrow ride, mossy and winding,
where perforce they trod on flowers as they went; for the path and the
wood about it were carpeted with blue dog-violets and the pale soft
blossoms of primroses, opening in clusters amid their thick fresh
foliage and the brown of last year's fallen leaves. The sky above wore
the intense blue in which dark clouds are seen floating, and as the
gleams of travelling sunshine passed over the wooded hill, its colors
also glowed with a peculiar intensity. The horses, no longer excited by
a vista of turf, were walking side by side. But the beauty of earth and
sky were nothing to Maxwell, whose whole being was intent on the beauty
of the woman in the saddle beside him; the rose and the gold of cheek
and hair, the lithe grace of the body, lightly moving to the motion of
her horse.

She turned to him with a sudden bright smile.

"How perfectly delightful riding is! I owe all the pleasure of it to
you."

"Do you?" he asked, smiling too, but slightly and gravely, narrowing on
her his inscrutable eyes. "Well, then, will you do what I want?"

"I thought you were a fatalist and never wanted anything. But if you
condescend to want me to do something, your slave obeys. You see I'm
learning the proper way for a woman to talk."

"I want you to remove the preposterous black pot with which you've
covered up your hair. I'll carry it for you."

"Oh, Max! What would people think if they met me riding without my hat?
Fancy Miss Cayley! What she'd say! And the Warden of Canterbury! What
he'd feel!"

She laughed delightedly.

"They never ride this way. It's the 'primrose path,' you see, and
they're afraid of the 'everlasting bonfire.' I'm not; you're not. You're
not afraid of anything."

"I am. I'm afraid of old maids and--most butlers."

Maxwell laughed, but his laugh was a harsh one.

"Humbug! If you really wanted to do anything you'd do it. I know you
better than you know yourself. If you won't take your hat off it's
because you don't really want to do what I want; and when you say pretty
things to me about your gratitude for the pleasure I'm giving you,
you're only telling the same old lies women tell all the world over."

"There! Catch my reins!" cried Mildred, leaning over and holding them
out