"

She made the slightest sign of acknowledgment, but said nothing. Once or
twice she rose upright, standing straight in her stirrups to scan the
distance under a small, inverted hand. East and north the pine forest
girdled the vlaie; west and south hardwood timber laced the sky-line
with branches partly naked, and the pine's outposts of white birch and
willow glimmered like mounds of crumpled gold along the edges of the sea
of grass.

"There is the stream!" said Burleson, suddenly.

[Illustration: "AWAY THEY WENT, KNEE-DEEP IN DRY SILVERY GRASSES"]

She saw it at the same moment, touched her mare with spurred heels, and
lifted her clean over with a grace that set Burleson's nerves thrilling.

He followed, taking the water-jump without effort; and after a second's
hesitation ventured to praise her horse.

"Yes," she said, indifferently, "The Witch is a good mare." After a
silence, "My father desires to sell her."

"I know a dozen men who would jump at the chance," said the young
fellow. "But"--he hesitated--"it is a shame to sell such a mare--"

The girl colored. "My father will never ride again," she said, quietly.
"We should be very glad to sell her."

"But--the mare suits you so perfectly--"

She turned her head and looked at him gravely. "You must be aware, Mr.
Burleson, that it is not choice with us," she said. There was nothing of
bitterness in her voice; she leaned forward, patting the mare's chestnut
neck for a moment, then swung back, sitting straight as a cavalryman in
her saddle. "Of course," she said, smiling for the first time, "it will
break my heart to sell The Witch, but"--she patted the mare again--"the
mare won't grieve; it takes a dog to do that; but horses--well, I know
horses enough to know that even The Witch won't grieve."

"That is a radical theory, Miss Elliott," said Burleson, amused. "What
about the Arab and his loving steed?"

"That is not a legend for people who know horses," she replied, still
smiling. "The love is all on our side. You know horses, Mr. Burleson. Is
it not the truth--the naked truth, stripped of poetry and freed from
tradition?"

"Why strip poetry from anything?" he asked, laughing.

She rode on in silence for a while, the bright smile fading from lips
and eyes.

"Oh, you are quite right," she said; "let us leave what romance there
may be in the world. My horse loves me like a dog. I am very happy to
believe it, Mr. Burleson."

From the luminous shadow of