he often met King at her father’s, and the young men occasionally made up small parties with Julia and Nell or some other young ladies for rides and excursions.  Towards winter, King was less at Newbury; and as winter approached, Mr. Thorndyke seemed left to monopolize the time and society of Julia.  So gracious, frank and open was her invariable manner to him, that he could not for a moment doubt that after a gentlemanly lapse of time, and a course of rides, calls, walks and teas, he might in his own way dispose of the matter.

His splendid gray, “West Wind,” was no mean companion for Prince, and many a gallop they had together, and Thorndyke was a gentlemanly rider and drove well, and during the winter he often drove Julia out in a single sleigh.

In a moment of weakness it occurred to him that West Wind and Prince would go well in double harness, and he proposed to Julia to match them for a drive.

“What!” exclaimed that young lady, “put Prince in harness? make a draught horse of him?”

“With West Wind—­certainly.  Why not?”

“Because I don’t choose it.  There is but one man in the world who shall drive Prince, and I am sure he will not want to.”

“I presume Judge Markham don’t care to drive him?”

“I presume he don’t;” laughing and blushing.

That was the end of that, and not overly pleasing to the gentleman.  It was apparent, that she was disinclined to match the horses.

And March was coming, and Julia was sweet and arch and gracious, and at times as he came to know her better, he thought a little grave and pensive.  This was certainly a good sign; and somehow, he found himself now often watching and calculating the signs, and somehow again they did not seem to deepen or change, or indicate much.  He could not on the whole convince himself that he had made much progress, except that he should ask her at some time and she would accept him, and he was certainly approaching that time.  The matter in hand had become absorbing—­very:  and he knew he was very much interested in it; and the laugh of the beautiful girl was as rich, musical and gay as ever, though he some how fancied, that it was a little less frequent; and once or twice something had been dropped about some day early in April, at which there was a little flutter in Julia.  What could it be? did she think he was slow?  He would speak, and put an end to it.  But he didn’t, and somehow he could not.  He might do it any day; but did not.  At any event, before that April, something should be asked and answered—­but how answered?

The sleigh was left under cover, the roads hardened in the March sun and wind, and several horseback excursions had been made.  Toward the close of the month, on their return one day, Thorndyke, who had been unusually silent, suddenly asked Julia if she would be at leisure that evening, at about eight; and might he call?  She answered that she would be at home, and as he knew, he was quite at liberty to call.  He said that he had something quite particular which he wished to say to her, and that of course she must know what it was.