es not go alone; it should be the sergeant who is
sent--yes?"

"It is not an affair of war, Oscar, but quite another matter. There is a
saddled horse hitched to the other side of our abandoned bridge. Get it
and ride it to Judge Claiborne's stables; and ask and answer no
questions."

A moment later he was riding toward the gate, the led-horse following.

He flung himself down, adjusting the stirrups and gave her a hand into
the saddle. They turned silently into the mountain road.

"The bridge would have been simpler and quicker," said Shirley; "as it
is, I shall be late to the ball."

"I am contrite enough; but you don't make explanations."

"No; I don't explain; and you are to come back as soon as we strike the
valley. I always send gentlemen back at that point," she laughed, and
went ahead of him into the narrow road. She guided the strange horse with
the ease of long practice, skilfully testing his paces, and when they
came to a stretch of smooth road sent him flying at a gallop over the
trail. He had given her his own horse, a hunter of famous strain, and she
at once defined and maintained a distance between them that made talk
impossible.

Her short covert riding-coat, buttoned close, marked clearly in the
starlight her erect figure; light wisps of loosened hair broke free under
her soft felt hat, and when she turned her head the wind caught the brim
and pressed it back from her face, giving a new charm to her profile.

He called after her once or twice at the start, but she did not pause or
reply; and he could not know what mood possessed her; or that once in
flight, in the security the horse gave her, she was for the first time
afraid of him. He had declared his love for her, and had offered to break
down the veil of mystery that made him a strange and perplexing figure.
His affairs, whatever their nature, were now at a crisis, he had said;
quite possibly she should never see him again after this ride. As she
waited at the gate she had known a moment of contrition and doubt as to
what she had done. It was not fair to her brother thus to give away his
secret to the enemy; but as the horse flew down the rough road her
blood leaped with the sense of adventure, and her pulse sang with the joy
of flight. Her thoughts were free, wild things; and she exulted in the
great starry vault and the cool heights over which she rode. Who was John
Armitage? She did not know or care, now that she had performed for him
her