hed.

Suddenly stooping forward she said in a low voice:

"Mr. Barnes, you may confide in me. Do you carry much money?"

He answered in a tone of assumed ease, "Paper to the value of nearly a
thousand pounds."

"Then look you, Mr. Barnes," said Betty in her natural voice, "I have a
proposal to make to you. Give the valuables you have to us--to Miss Mary
Jones and to myself. Wild Jack, all say, is a gentleman--should he, by
any unfortunate chance, be on the road to-night, he will not rob women.
Your money will be safe."

"No, no, no, no!" cried Mary. "Betty, how can you propose anything so
impossible, so unfeminine! Are not men our natural protectors?" and she
threw a languishing glance at the cattle-breeder. "Shall we usurp their
rights?"

"It is quite true; it is impossible," said Barnes.

"You are foolish to throw away the chance," said Betty calmly.

"I cannot see why you should not accept her offer," said the parson
restlessly; he was accustomed to yield to his daughter's judgment in
everything. "Betty is a bold girl, and she is generally in the right."

"Come, yield the point, Mr. Barnes," said Betty, with a light laugh,
holding out her hand for the pocket-book.

"Remember I have no part or parcel in it," cried Mary, shrinking farther
and farther away. "I would not for the whole world! Why, Betty," she
whimpered, "they might even search you."

"Wild Jack is a gentleman," answered the girl; then with a sudden flash
of scorn, "but even had I not such faith in his honourable dealing, I
should know how to take care of myself. Give me the papers, Mr. Barnes."

Very unwillingly, as if he despised himself for so doing, Barnes gave
them into her hands. The notes were smoothed and laid flat, they
occupied the smallest space possible.

Betty Ives placed the papers within the bosom of her tight-fitting
riding-habit, and leant back as if she had done with the subject.

Mr. Ives looked with anxious eyes through the window.

The mail was passing along a wide fair unsheltered road, on each side
spread away treeless tracts of country, flat and wide, over which the
fresh cold wind blew listlessly. To the left the horizon was bounded by
the wide expanse of the grassy Berkshire downs. They rose and fell, a
vast undulating plain, covered with short fine herbage.

It was growing very dark; the parson drew in his head, and thanked
Heaven that the country was so fine and open, that he could even in the
gathering gloom