atural impression.

'That on the other side,' he said, pointing across the island, 'is more
beautiful still. And there is shade, whilst here the sun grows too hot.
But you must not walk so far. My horse has a very even pace. If you
would let me lift you to the saddle--'

'Oh, gladly!' she answered, with a little laugh of pleasure.

And it was done. For a moment he held her, for a moment felt the warmth
and softness of her flesh; then she sat sideways upon the horse,
looking down at Marcian with startled gaiety. He showed her how to hold
the reins, and the horse went gently forward.

'It makes me a child again,' she exclaimed. 'I have never ridden since
I was a little girl, when my father--'

Her voice died away; her look was averted, and Marcian, remembering the
shame that mingled with her memories, began to talk of other things.

By a path that circled the villa, they came to a little wood of ilex,
which shadowed the brink of the larger cataract. Marcian had bidden
Veranilda's woman follow them, but as they entered the wood, his
companion looking eagerly before her, he turned and made a gesture of
dismissal, which the servant at once obeyed. In the shadiest spot which
offered a view of the plunging river, he asked Veranilda if she would
alight.

'Willingly, I would spend an hour here,' she replied. 'The leafage and
the water make such a delightful freshness.'

'I have anticipated your thought,' said Marcian. 'The woman is gone to
bid them bring seats.'

Veranilda glanced back in surprise and saw that they were alone. She
thanked him winsomely, and then, simply as before, accepted his help.
Again Marcian held her an instant, her slim, light body trembling when
he set her down, as if from a burden which strained his utmost force.
She stepped forward to gaze at the fall. He, with an exclamation of
alarm, caught her hand and held it.

'You are too rash,' he said in a thick voice. 'The depth, the roar of
the waters, will daze you.'

Against his burning palm, her hand was cool as a lily leaf. He did not
release it, though he knew that _his_ peril from that maidenly touch
was greater far than hers from the gulf before them. Veranilda,
accepting his protection with the thoughtlessness of a child, leaned
forward, uttering her wonder and her admiration. He, the while, watched
her lips, fed his eyes upon her cheek, her neck, the golden ripples of
her hair. At length she gently offered to draw her hand away. A frenzy