hen he remembered to look at her hands, and was relieved to
find them, although a little roughened by toil, charmingly shaped and
finely aristocratic--fit portion of the tall, well-rounded figure, which
only needed self-consciousness to be that of a young Diana. The girl
seemed so happy and radiant, so impersonal in the marked attention she
gave to him, which was not unlike the attention she might have given to
her grandfather, that Wainwright recognized it at last as only another
case of his being of no consequence, and smiled to himself over it.
Evidently, if he wanted notice, he must, as it were, mount the horses.
He had had no especial intention of making excursions among the
mountains; but that was, apparently, the fixed idea of these
horse-owners. They were, for some reason, pleased to be mysterious; he
would be mysterious also.

"I hope Mr. Head's horses are good ones?" he said confidentially; "I
shall need _very_ good horses."

All her color gone instantly, and the old cloud of anxiety on her face
again.

"Yes, they are good horses," she answered; and then her eyes rested upon
him, and he read trouble, fear, and dislike, succeeding each other
openly in their dark depths.

"Is it because I am a Northerner, Miss Dooris?" he said quietly. He had
made up his mind, rather unfairly, to break down the fence between them
by a close question, which so young a girl would not know how to parry.

She started, and the color rushed up all over her face again.

"Of course, it is all right," she answered hurriedly, in a low voice. "I
know that the laws must be maintained, and that some persons must do the
work that you do. People can not always choose their occupations, I
suppose, and no doubt they--no doubt you--I mean, that it can not be
helped."

"May I ask what you take me for?" said Wainwright, watching her.

"We saw it at once; Mr. Head saw it, and afterward I did also. But we
are experienced; others may not discover you so soon. Mr. Head is
anxious to pilot you through the mountains to save you from danger."

"He is very kind; disinterested, too."

"No," said Honor, flushing again; "I assure you he makes money by it
also."

"But you have not told me what it is you take me for, Miss Dooris?"

"It is not necessary, is it?" replied Honor in a whisper. "You are one
of the new revenue detectives, sent up here to search out the stills."

"An informer--after the moonlight whisky-makers, you mean?"

"Yes."

Wa