e."

A servant knocked at the door.

"The horse is round, miss," he announced.

"I was going for a ride," she said; "but I will send the horse
away--unless you will ride with me. You will, Stafford?"

"Certainly," he said, glad of the interruption to this _tete-a-tete_
which had been to him a positive torture.

"I will not be five minutes," she said, brightly. "You'd like to go
over the house? They shall bring you something to drink in the
smoking-room, or here, if you like: you are lord and master."

She went up to her room, and, when she had rung for her maid, paced up
and down feverishly. He had gone to that girl before he had come to
her! She was racked with hate and jealousy, which was all the harder to
bear because she knew she must hide them within her bosom, that no word
or look of hers must let him see that she knew of her rival. Some time,
after they were marred, she would tell him: but not till she was safe.
She got into her habit quickly and went down to him. He was standing
where she had left him, and as she entered the room she saw before he
had time to turn to her with a smile, how haggard and harassed he
looked.

"You have been quick," he said.

"Yes; I am learning one of my wifely duties: not to keep my husband
waiting." They went out, and Pottinger, standing by the horses, touched
his hat and grew red with joy at sight of his master.

"Well, Pottinger! Glad to see you!" said Stafford; and he was genuinely
glad. "You're looking well, and the horse is too. Halloo! you're put
the side-saddle on Adonis," he added, as he went up and patted the
horse.

Pottinger touched his hat again.

"Yes, sir; Miss Falconer's been riding him, and I did not know that I
ought to change the saddle. I can do so in a minute--"

"No, no," said Stafford; "never mind. I will ride the hunter, as you
have the saddle on him. You like Adonis, Maude?"

"Oh, yes," she replied. "Though I'm not quite sure he likes me," she
added, with a laugh.

Stafford put her up, and noticed, with some surprise, that Adonis
seemed restless and ill at ease, and that he shivered and shrank as he
felt Maude on his back.

"What is the matter with him?" he said. "He seems fidgety. Does the
saddle fit?"

"Yes, sir," said Pottinger, with a half-nervous glance at Maude,
followed by the impassive expression of the trained servant who cannot
speak out.

"He is troublesome sometimes," said Maude; "but I can manage him quite
easily."

"Oh