Ralph did not in the least object to hold the smoothly gloved little hand in his own, but he was really afraid that the girl would be hurt, if she persisted in this attempt to make a halter of herself.  If he released his hold, he was sure she would be jerked face forward into the mire, or at least be obliged to step into it; and as for the mare, it was plain to be seen that she did not intend to come any nearer the shed.  He therefore doubled his entreaties that she would let the beast go, as it made no difference whether she ran into the fields or not.  He could easily catch her again, or the man could.

“I don’t want to let her go,” said Dora.  “Your sister would have a pretty opinion of me when she is ready to take her drive, and finds that I have let her horse run away; and, besides, I don’t like to give up things.  Do you like to give up things?  I am sure you don’t, for I saw you bringing this horse into the yard, and you were very determined about it.  If I let her go, all your determination and trouble will have been for nothing.  I should not like that.  Come, come, you obstinate creature, just two steps forward.  I have some lumps of sugar in my pocket which I keep to give to our horses, but of course I can’t get it with both my hands occupied.  I wish I had thought of the sugar.  By the way, the sugar is not in my pocket; after all, it is in this little bag on my belt; I don’t suppose you could reach it.”

Ralph stretched out his other hand, but he could not reach the little leather bag with its silver clasp.  If he could have jumped out of the window, he would have done so without hesitation, but the aperture was not large enough.  He could not help being amused by the dilemma in which he was placed by this young lady’s inflexibility.  He did not know a girl, his sister not excepted, whom, under the circumstances, he would not have left to the consequences of what he would have called her obstinacy.  But there was something about Dora—­some sort of a lump of sugar—­which prevented him from letting go of her hand.

“I never saw a horse,” said she, “nor, indeed, any sort of a living thing, which was so unwilling to come to me.  You are very good to hold me so strongly, and I am sure I don’t mind waiting a little longer, until some one comes by.”

“There is no one to come by,” exclaimed Ralph, “and I most earnestly beg of you—­”

At this moment the horse began to back; Miss Dora’s fingers nervously clasped themselves about Ralph’s hand, which pressed hers more closely and vigorously than before.  There was a strong pull, a little jerk, and the forelock of the mare slipped out of Miss Dora’s hand.

“There!” she cried; “that is exactly what I knew would happen.  The wicked creature has galloped out of the gate.”

The young lady now made a step or two nearer the barn, Ralph still holding her hand, as if to assist her to a better footing.

She did not need the assistance at all, but she looked up gratefully, as Ralph loosened his grasp, and she gently withdrew her hand.