aded his precincts and fallen into one of his
snares.

With sudden frenzy burning in her veins Margaret struggled and tried to
get free, but she could only move the slightest bit each time, and every
motion was an agony to the hurt ankle.

It seemed hours before she writhed herself free from that great,
motionless horse, whose labored breath only showed that he was still
alive. Something terrible must have happened to the horse or he would
have tried to rise, for she had coaxed, patted, cajoled, tried in every
way to rouse him. When at last she crawled free from the hot, horrible
body and crept with pained progress around in front of him, she saw that
both his forelegs lay limp and helpless. He must have broken them in
falling. Poor fellow! He, too, was suffering and she had nothing to give
him! There was nothing she could do for him!

Then she thought of the bottle of water, but, searching for it, found
that her good intention of dividing it with him was useless, for the
bottle was broken and the water already soaked into the sand. Only a
damp spot on the saddle-bag showed where it had departed.

Then indeed did Margaret sink down in the sand in despair and begin to
pray as she had never prayed before.

CHAPTER XXXI

The morning after Margaret's departure Rosa awoke with no feelings of
self-reproach, but rather a great exultation at the way in which she had
been able to get rid of her rival.

She lay for a few minutes thinking of Forsythe, and trying to decide
what she would wear when she went forth to meet him, for she wanted to
charm him as she had never charmed any one before.

She spent some time arraying herself in different costumes, but at last
decided on her Commencement gown of fine white organdie,
hand-embroidered and frilled with filmy lace, the product of a famous
house of gowns in the Eastern city where she had attended school for a
while and acquired expensive tastes.

Daintily slippered, beribboned with coral-silk girdle, and with a rose
from the vine over her window in her hair, she sallied forth at last to
the trysting-place.

Forsythe was a whole hour late, as became a languid gentleman who had
traveled the day before and idled at his sister's house over a late
breakfast until nearly noon. Already his fluttering fancy was apathetic
about Rosa, and he wondered, as he rode along, what had become of the
interesting young teacher who had charmed him for more than a passing
moment. Wou