y now, with his hands clenched
at his side. "But if they had hurt you, I would beat their brains
out with my hands, I would kill them all. I was never afraid before.
You are the only beautiful thing that has ever come close to me. You
came like an angel out of the sky. You are like the music you sing,
you are like the stars and the snow on the mountains where I played
when I was a little boy. You are like all that I wanted once and
never had, you are all that they have killed in me. I die for you
to-night, to-morrow, for all eternity. I am not a coward; I was
afraid because I love you more than Christ who died for me, more
than I am afraid of hell, or hope for heaven. I was never afraid
before. If you had fallen--oh, my God!" he threw his arms out
blindly and dropped his head upon the pony's mane, leaning limply
against the animal like a man struck by some sickness. His shoulders
rose and fell perceptibly with his labored breathing. The horse
stood cowed with exhaustion and fear. Presently Margaret laid her
hand on Eric's head and said gently:

"You are better now, shall we go on? Can you get your horse?"

"No, he has gone with the herd. I will lead yours, she is not safe.
I will not frighten you again." His voice was still husky, but it
was steady now. He took hold of the bit and tramped home in silence.

When they reached the house, Eric stood stolidly by the pony's head
until Wyllis came to lift his sister from the saddle.

"The horses were badly frightened, Wyllis. I think I was pretty
thoroughly scared myself," she said as she took her brother's arm
and went slowly up the hill toward the house. "No, I'm not hurt,
thanks to Eric. You must thank him for taking such good care of me.
He's a mighty fine fellow. I'll tell you all about it in the
morning, dear. I was pretty well shaken up and I'm going right to
bed now. Good-night."

When she reached the low room in which she slept, she sank upon the
bed in her riding-dress face downward.

"Oh, I pity him! I pity him!" she murmured, with a long sigh of
exhaustion. She must have slept a little. When she rose again, she
took from her dress a letter that had been waiting for her at the
village post-office. It was closely written in a long, angular hand,
covering a dozen pages of foreign note-paper, and began:--

"My Dearest Margaret: If I should attempt to say _how like a winter
hath thine absence been_, I should incur the risk of being tedious.
Really, it takes the