of copsewood, drew my attention. It
looked as if it had been a spot on which some family group had encamped.
I was led to this conjecture, by observing some flowers scattered
near--for the grassy sward showed no other sign. The flowers betokened
the presence of womankind. Fair faces--or one at least--had beamed in
the light of that fire. I felt morally certain of it. I approached the
spot. The shrubbery around was interlaced with wild roses; while blue
lupins and scarlet pelargoniums sparkled over the glade, under the
sheltering protection of the trees. By the edge of the shrubbery lay a
bouquet, that had evidently been put together with some care!
Dismounting, I took it up. My fingers trembled as I examined it: for
even in this slight object I read indications of design. The flowers
were of the rarest and prettiest--of many kinds that grew not near.
They had been plucked elsewhere. Some one had given both time and
attention to their collection and arrangement. Who? It would have been
idle to shape even a conjecture, but for a circumstance, that appeared
to offer a certain clue; and, not without bitter thoughts, did I try to
unwind it. The thread which was warped around the flower-stalks was of
yellow silk. The strands were finely twisted; and I easily recognised
the bullion from the tassel of a sash. That thread must have been taken
from the sash of a dragoon officer!

Had the bouquet been a gift? To whom? and by whom? Here all conjecture
should have ended; but not without a feeling of painful suspicion did I
examine those trivial signs; and the feeling continued to annoy me, long
after I had flung the flowers at my feet.

A reflection came to my relief, which went far towards restoring my
spirits' equanimity. If a gift, and to Lilian Holt, she had scarcely
honoured it--else how could the flowers have been there? Had they been
forgotten, or left unregarded? There was consolation in either
hypothesis; and, in the trust that one or the other was true, I sprang
back into my saddle, and with a more cheerful heart, rode away from the
spot.

CHAPTER FORTY NINE.

AN UNEXPECTED APPEARANCE.

The finding of the flowers, or rather the reflections to which they gave
rise, rendered me more anxious than ever to come up with, the caravan.
The little incident had made me aware of a new danger hitherto unthought
of. Up to that hour, my chief anxiety with regard to Lilian Holt had
been the companionship o