kirting a second side of the square
field in which I had taken up my position; by crossing this field,
therefore, I conceived I should cut off a great angle, and regain the
road before they came up.

Setting spurs to my horse then, I rode off at speed, trusting to find
some gate or gap by which I might effect my exit. In this calculation,
however, I was deceived; instead of anything of the sort, my eyes were
greeted by a stiff ox-fence, with a rather unpleasantly high fall of
ground into the lane beyond,--a sort of place well fitted to winnow a
hunting-field, and sift the gentlemen who come out merely to show their
white gloves and buckskins, from the "real sort," who "mean going," and
are resolved to see the end of the run. However, in the humour in which
I then was, it would not have been easy to stop me, and holding the
mare well together, I put her steadily at it. Fortunately, she was a
first-rate fencer, and knew her work capitally, as she proved in the
present instance, by rising to the leap, clearing the fence in beautiful
style, and dropping lightly into the lane beyond, without so much as a
stumble, just as Clara and her attendant turned the corner of the road
and came in sight. My sudden appearance frightened Clara's pony to a
degree which justified me in riding up and assisting her to reduce it to
order. Having accomplished this not very difficult task, I waited for a
moment, hoping she would be the first to speak, but finding she remained
silent, I began, "Really, I am most unfortunate; I had no idea you were
near enough for me to startle the pony,--I hope I have not alarmed you".

[Illustration: page418 The Reconciliation]

"How can you risk your life so madly," she replied, in a tone of
reproach, "and for no reason, too?"

"Is my safety indeed an object of interest to you?" inquired I; then,
unable to restrain myself any longer, I continued, "Clara, dearest
Clara, have you forgiven me? Indeed, I have been punished sufficiently;
I have been so utterly, so intensely miserable."

~419~~ "And have I been happy, do you think? Frank, it was cruel of you
to doubt me--you, to whom I have told everything--you, who of all the
world should have been the last to mistrust me; I never could have
doubted you."

"It was cruel; it was ungenerous in the extreme, I own it--and yet,
believe me, dear Clara, I did not doubt you lightly; proofs, that to my
short-sightedness appeared incontrovertible, were brought against y