Capitola had become a skilful as she had first been a fearless rider.
But her rides were confined to the domain between the mountain range and
the river; she was forbidden to ford the one or climb the other. Perhaps
if such a prohibition had never been made Capitola would never have
thought of doing the one or the other; but we all know the diabolical
fascination there is in forbidden pleasures for young human nature. And
no sooner had Cap been commanded, if she valued her safety, not to cross
the water or climb the precipice than, as a natural consequence, she
began to wonder what was in the valley behind the mountain and what
might be in the woods across the river. And she longed, above all
things, to explore and find out for herself. She would eagerly have done
so, notwithstanding the prohibition; but Wool, who always attended her
rides, was sadly in the way. If she could only get rid of Wool, she
resolved to go upon a limited exploring expedition.

One day a golden opportunity occurred. It was a day of unusual beauty,
when autumn seemed to be smiling upon the earth with her brightest
smiles before passing away. In a word, it was Indian summer. The beauty
of the weather had tempted Old Hurricane to ride to the county seat on
particular business connected with his ward herself.

Capitola, left alone, amused herself with her tasks until the afternoon;
then, calling a boy, she ordered him to saddle her horse and bring him
around.

"My dear, what do you want with your horse? There is no one to attend
you; Wool has gone with his master," said Mrs. Condiment, as she met
Capitola in the hall, habited for her ride.

"I know that; but I cannot be mewed up here in the old house and
deprived of my afternoon ride," exclaimed Capitola decidedly.

"But, my dear, you must never think of riding out alone," exclaimed the
dismayed Mrs. Condiment.

"Indeed I shall, though--and glad of the opportunity," added Cap,
mentally.

"But, my dear love, it is improper, imprudent, dangerous."

"Why so?" asked Cap.

"Good gracious, upon every account! Suppose you were to meet with
ruffians; suppose--oh, heaven!--suppose you were to meet with--Black
Donald!"

"Mrs. Condiment, once for all do tell me who this terrible Black Donald
is? Is he the Evil One himself, or the Man in the Iron Mask, or the
individual that struck Billy Patterson, or--who is he?"

"Who is Black Donald? Good gracious, child, you ask me who is Black
Donald!"