ng back. It all occurred
in a minute.

The other riders came up; Rachel was not injured, only a little bruised
and faint. She was too nervous to remount. Our party rode home, and I
sat with Rachel on the grass, till a servant came with a pony carriage.
The man took our horses, and I drove Rachel home. She cried hysterically
all the time whilst we waited in the wood. I did not see any more of
Jane, and, of course, I did not pay my proposed visit to her mother.
Rachel did not attempt to explain the cause of her accident, and I did
not ask her anything about it. I remembered Jane's face, and I puzzled
over her strange conduct in silence. It was impossible not to think that
she had beheld in Rachel some one whom she had not expected, and was not
well pleased to see. Yet this young girl had been a child when she had
come to Hillsbro', and she had not known Rachel by name. My head ached
distressfully over the puzzle, but I could make nothing of it. Jane was
an odd girl; she had conceived a prejudice against Miss Leonard, and had
taken a whimsically rude way of showing it. This was all the conclusion
I could come to on the subject.

One evening we had a dinner party, and a good many young people being
present, we danced a little. I danced more gaily than the rest, for my
heart was unusually sore. Grace Tyrrell had told me that day that she
purposed leaving the Hall next week, and had pressed me to go with her
to London. I thought I had better go, yet I had refused her. I knew I
must leave Hillsbro', yet I shrank from the great effort of tearing
myself away. Here I had been loved and happy; the trees and the moors
knew it; even the strange faces of the country people passing on the
roads had seemed to be in my secret, and had played their simple part in
my dream. I felt that, once gone, I could never return, and I must first
have an explanation with John, and put an end to our engagement. Yet how
to seek him for such a purpose? I had kept at so great a distance from
him lately that it seemed impossible. I felt that he would be relieved
by my absence, and glad of his release, but my own woe pressed upon me.
I feared to make a fool of myself, if he was kind as of old when we said
good-bye.

So I was dancing with the rest, and Captain Tyrrell was my partner. We
were very merry. Grace was playing for us, and looked approvingly over
her shoulders. John had been with us at dinner, but I had lost sight of
him, and as I did not see