peculiar fading, golden hue, whilst the hardier leaves
were just beginning to bedeck themselves in the full glory of their
rich autumnal tints.

"This is beautiful," exclaimed Dorothy, enthusiastically, as she gazed
enraptured at the rich variety of form and colour which met them at
every turn. "Look at those cliffs. It is lovely, it is grand."

They had just passed the little hamlet of Matlock Bath, and were
approaching Cromford. There were no stone walls then to hide from view
even the smallest portion of the gorgeous picture. From the road
to the Derwent there sloped a narrow strip of marshy meadow, which
covered itself with a superabundance of luxurious tall grasses and
tough bracken. Beyond the stream there rose, standing straight up by
the water's edge, a wall of jagged and scarred rock, overgrown with
trees and climbing foliage, which was faithfully mirrored in the
placid water below. The scene could hardly fail to appeal to their
sense of beauty.

Manners avowed that he thought it the fairest spot on earth, and De la
Zouch, not to be outdone in gallantry, added that the presence of so
fair a maiden as Dorothy Vernon in the midst of so much natural beauty
made a picture a better than which he never desired to see.

"And, after all, fair Dorothy," he concluded, "I wot that it is but
the reflection of thine own sweet form and peerless grace."

Dorothy frowned. She did not care for compliments from Sir Henry de
la Zouch; she always feared them, for they generally had a sting
somewhere, and she had noticed that, as a rule, they were followed by
something more or less unpleasant.

"Sir Everard has not come yet," she exclaimed, turning round in her
saddle, "perhaps he is not coming after all?"

"He is sure to follow us," replied Manners. "Maybe he has been
delayed, and yet we have come slowly. Hark! I hear the ring of hoofs
upon the road even now."

They halted to await their companion, but they soon discovered, as the
sound of the galloping grew rapidly more and more distinct, that the
horseman was advancing towards them from the opposite direction.

"He is hindered, surely," exclaimed De la Zouch, who heartily wished
he was stating the truth, "and it will soon be time for us to turn our
faces again towards the Hall."

"Not just yet, Sir Henry," Dorothy quickly replied; "but you may; and
you will."

"Not yet, eh! Then let us have a race along this lane," suggested
De la Zouch, evading the hint and point