a turn of the road before them. "Such cheerfulness is
infectious. I was merry before, but now I feel as if I had been bathed
in sunshine."

Cicely's eyes flashed wide with surprise and her face grew serious in
earnest. "Mr. Ensign is a delightful companion," observed she; "a room
is always brighter for his entrance; and with all that, he is the only
young man I know, who having come into a large fortune, feels any of the
responsibilities of his position. The sunshine is the result of a good
heart and pure living, and that is what makes it infectious, I suppose."

"Let us canter," said Paula. And so the glad young things swept on, life
breaking in bubbles around them and rippling away into unfathomable
wells of feeling in one of their pure hearts at least. Suddenly a hand
seemed to swoop from heaven and dash them both back in dismay. They had
reached one of those places where the foot path crosses the equestrian
and they had run over and thrown down a little child.

"O heaven!" cried Paula leaping from her horse, "I had rather been
killed myself." The groom rode up and she bent anxiously over the child.

It was a boy of some seven or eight years, whose misfortune--he was
lame, as the little crutch fallen at his side sufficiently denoted--made
appear much younger. He had been struck on his arm and was moaning with
pain, but did not seem to be otherwise hurt. "Are you alone?" cried
Paula, lifting his head on her arm and glancing hurriedly about.

The little fellow raised his heavy lids and for a moment stared into her
face with eyes so deeply blue and beautiful they almost startled her,
then with an effort pointed down the path, saying,

"Dad's over there in the long tunnel talking to some one. Tell him I got
hurt. I want Dad."

She gently lifted him to his feet and led him out of the road into the
apparently deserted path where she made him sit down. "I am going to
find his father," said Paula to Cicely, "I will be back in a moment."

"But wait; you shall not go alone," authoritatively exclaimed that
little damsel, leaping in her turn to the ground. "Where does he say his
father is?"

"In the tunnel, by which I suppose he means that long passage under the
bridge over there."

Holding up the skirts of their riding-habits in their trembling right
hands, they hurried forward. Suddenly they both paused. A woman had
crossed their path; a woman whom to look at but once was to remember
with ghastly shrinking for a li