the line of timber that blurred across the
landscape. Norah was glad he did not bother her with questions. She had
told him all she knew, and now he was content to wait.

"It must be hard on him, all the same," thought Norah, looking at the
set young face, and sparing an instant to approve of the easy seat in
the saddle displayed by her new "governess." To believe that your father
was dead all these years, and then suddenly to find him alive--but how
far apart in every way! "Why, you hardly know," mused Norah, "whether
you'll like him--whether he'll be glad to see you! Not that anyone could
fail to like the Hermit--anyone with sense, that is!"

Mile after mile! The plain slipped away beneath the even beat of the
steadily cantering hoofs. The creek, forded slowly, sank into the
distance behind them; before, the line of timber grew darker and more
definite. Jim's pony was not far inferior to Bobs in pace and easiness,
and his swinging canter required no effort to sit, but a great weariness
began to steal over his rider. Dick Stephenson, glancing at her
frequently, saw the pallor creeping upon the brave little face.

He pulled up.

"We'll go steady for a while," he said. "No good knocking you up
altogether."

Norah checked her pony unwillingly.

"Oh, don't you think we ought to hurry?" she said. "Dad's waiting for
those medicines you've got, you know."

"Yes, I know. But I don't think we'll gain much by overdoing it."

"If you're thinking about me," Norah said impatiently, "you needn't. I'm
as right as rain. You must think I'm pretty soft! Do come on!"

He looked at her steadily. Dark shadows of weariness lay under the brave
eyes that met his.

"Why, no," he said. "Fact is, I'm a bit of a new chum myself where
riding's concerned--you mustn't be too ashamed of me. I think we'd
better walk for a while. And you take this."

He poured something from his flask into its little silver cup and handed
it to Norah. Their eyes met, and she read his meaning through the
kindness of the words that cloaked what he felt. Above her weariness a
sense of comfort stole over Norah. She knew in that look that henceforth
they were friends.

She gulped down the drink, which was hateful, but presently sent a
feeling of renewed strength through her tired limbs. They rode on in
silence for some time, the horses brushing through the long soft grass.
Dick Stephenson pulled hard at his pipe.

"Did--did my father know you this morning?"