orse's head, took the
path leading down into the Hidden Hollow.

"Poor young fellow! he must be very unhappy down in that miserable
place; but I can't help it. I wish he would go to Mexico with the
rest," said Cap, as she pursued her way homeward.

Not to excite her suspicion, Craven Le Noir avoided meeting Capitola
for a few days, and then threw himself in her road and, as before,
allowed her to overtake him.

Very subtly he entered into conversation with her, and, guarding every
word and look, took care to interest without alarming her. He said no
more of friendship, but a great deal of regret for wasted years and
wasted talents in the past and good resolutions for the future.

And Cap listened good humoredly. Capitola, being of a brave, hard, firm
nature, had not the sensitive perceptions, fine intuitions and true
insight into character that distinguished the more refined nature of
Clara Day--or, at least, she had not these delicate faculties in the
same perfection. Thus, her undefined suspicions of Craven's sincerity
were overborne by a sort of noble benevolence which determined her to
think the best of him which circumstances would permit.

Craven, on his part, having had more experience, was much wiser in the
pursuit of his object. He also had the advantage of being in earnest.
His passion for Capitola was sincere, and not, as it had been in the
case of Clara, simulated. He believed, therefore, that, when the time
should be ripe for the declaration of his love, he would have a much
better prospect of success, especially as Capitola, in her ignorance of
her own great fortune, must consider his proposal the very climax of
disinterestedness.

After three more weeks of riding and conversing with Capitola he had,
in his own estimation, advanced so far in her good opinion as to make
it perfectly safe to risk a declaration. And this he determined to do
upon the very first opportunity.

Chance favored him.

One afternoon Capitola, riding through the pleasant woods skirting the
back of the mountain range that sheltered Hurricane Hall, got a fall,
for which she was afterwards inclined to cuff Wool.

It happened in this way: She had come to a steep rise in the road and
urged her pony into a hard gallop, intending as she said to herself, to
"storm the height," when suddenly, under the violent strain, the girth,
ill-fastened, flew apart and Miss Cap was on the ground, buried under
the fallen saddle.

With many a b