a horse; then she remembered the fact that she had been
thrown, and that it was her horse. She rose to her feet.

"I'm ever so much obliged to you, Mr. Gaylord," she said; "you have done
me a great favour by--telling me these things. And thanks for letting
them catch the horse. I'm afraid I've put you to a lot of bother."

"Not at all," said Tom, "not at all." He was studying her face. Its
expression troubled and moved him strangely, for he was not an analytical
person. "I didn't mean to tell you those things when I began," he
apologized, "but you wanted to hear them."

"I wanted to hear them," repeated Victoria. She held out her hand to him.

"You're not going to ride home!" he exclaimed. "I'll take you up in my
buggy--it's in the station shed."

She smiled, turned and questioned and thanked the men, examined the
girths and bridle, and stroked the five-year-old on the neck. He was wet
from mane to fetlocks.

"I don't think he'll care to run much farther," she said. "If you'll pull
him over to the lumber pile, Mr. Gaylord, I'll mount him."

They performed her bidding in silence, each paying her a tribute in his
thoughts. As for the five-year-old, he was quiet enough by this time.
When she was in the saddle she held out her hand once more to Tom.

"I hope we shall meet soon again," she said, and smiling back at him,
started on her way towards Fairview.

Tom stood for a moment looking after her, while the two men indulged in
surprised comments.

"Andrews," said young Mr. Gaylord, "just fetch my buggy and follow her
until she gets into the gate."

CHAPTER XVIII

A SPIRIT IN THE WOODS

Empires crack before they crumble, and the first cracks seem easily
mended--even as they have been mended before. A revolt in Gaul or Britain
or Thrace is little to be minded, and a prophet in Judea less. And yet
into him who sits in the seat of power a premonition of something
impending gradually creeps--a premonition which he will not acknowledge,
will not define. Yesterday, by the pointing of a finger, he created a
province; to-day he dares not, but consoles himself by saying he does not
wish to point. No antagonist worthy of his steel has openly defied him,
worthy of recognition by the opposition of a legion. But the sense of
security has been subtly and indefinably shaken.

By the strange telepathy which defies language, to the Honourable Hilary
Vane, Governor of the Province, some such unacknowledged forebodings ha