She went up to her room, and, when she had rung for her maid, paced up

and down feverishly. He had gone to that girl before he had come to

her! She was racked with hate and jealousy, which was all the harder to

bear because she knew she must hide them within her bosom, that no word

or look of hers must let him see that she knew of her rival. Some time,

after they were marred, she would tell him: but not till she was safe.

She got into her habit quickly and went down to him. He was standing

where she had left him, and as she entered the room she saw before he

had time to turn to her with a smile, how haggard and harassed he

looked.

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"You have been quick," he said.

"Yes; I am learning one of my wifely duties: not to keep my husband

waiting." They went out, and Pottinger, standing by the horses, touched

his hat and grew red with joy at sight of his master.

"Well, Pottinger! Glad to see you!" said Stafford; and he was genuinely

glad. "You're looking well, and the horse is too. Halloo! you're put

the side-saddle on Adonis," he added, as he went up and patted the

horse.

Pottinger touched his hat again.

"Yes, sir; Miss Falconer's been riding him, and I did not know that I

ought to change the saddle. I can do so in a minute--"

"No, no," said Stafford; "never mind. I will ride the hunter, as you

have the saddle on him. You like Adonis, Maude?"

"Oh, yes," she replied. "Though I'm not quite sure he likes me," she

added, with a laugh.

Stafford put her up, and noticed, with some surprise, that Adonis

seemed restless and ill at ease, and that he shivered and shrank as he

felt Maude on his back.

"What is the matter with him?" he said. "He seems fidgety. Does the

saddle fit?"

"Yes, sir," said Pottinger, with a half-nervous glance at Maude,

followed by the impassive expression of the trained servant who cannot

speak out.

"He is troublesome sometimes," said Maude; "but I can manage him quite

easily."

"Oh, yes," assented Stafford; "he is as quiet as a lamb; but he is

highly bred and as highly strung."

As they were starting, Pottinger murmured: "Don't curb him too tightly, miss."

Maude ignored the warning; and she and Stafford rode out. The rain had

ceased, the clouds had passed away, and in the joy of his nearness, her

spirits rose, a feeling of triumph swelled in her bosom.




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