ally Cynthia came out from the midst of them and stood leaning
against one of the large pillars which supported the roof of the
amphitheatre, still gazing about the half-deserted building, with the
smouldering fires of her slumberous eyes newly kindled.

To other eyes and ears it might not have seemed a scene of tumultuous
metropolitan life, with the murmuring trees close at hand dappling the
floor with sycamore shadows, the fields of Indian corn across the
road, the exuberant rush of the stream down the slope just beyond, the
few hundred spectators who had intently watched the events of the day;
but to Cynthia Hollis the excitement of the crowd and movement and
noise could no further go.

By the natural force of gravitation Jacob Brice presently was walking
slowly and apparently aimlessly around to where she was standing. He
said nothing, however, when he was beside her, and she seemed entirely
unconscious of his presence. Her yellow dress was as stiff as a board,
and as clean as her strong, young arms could make it; at her throat
were the shining black beads; on her head she wore a limp, yellow
calico sunbonnet, which hung down over her eyes, and almost obscured
her countenance. To this article she perhaps owed the singular purity
and transparency of her complexion, as much as to the mountain air,
and the chiefly vegetable fare of her father's table. She wore it
constantly, although it operated almost as a mask, rendering her more
easily recognizable to their few neighbors by her flaring attire than
by her features, and obstructing from her own view all surrounding
scenery, so that she could hardly see the cow, which so much of her
time she was slowly poking after.

She spoke unexpectedly, and without any other symptom that she knew of
the young hunter's proximity. "I never thought, Jacob, ez how ye would
hev come down hyar, all the way from the mountings, to ride agin my
dad, an' beat him out'n that thar saddle an' bridle."

"Ye won't hev nothin' ter say ter me," retorted Jacob sourly.

A long silence ensued.

Then he resumed didactically, but with some irrelevancy, "I tole ye
t'other day ez how ye war old enough ter be a-studyin' 'bout gittin'
married."

"They don't think nothin' of ye ter our house, Jacob. Dad 's always
a-jowin' at ye." Cynthia's candor certainly could not be called in
question.

The young hunter replied with some natural irritation: "He hed better
not let me hear him, ef he wants to keep