By these arts, a very light hand, and tact in riding, she soothed Black Bess’s nerves, so that at last the very touch of her habit skirt, or her hand, or the sound of her voice, seemed to soothe the poor nervous creature; and at last one day in the stable Bess protruded her great lips and kissed her fair rider on the shoulder after her manner.

All this interested and amused Walter Clifford, but still he was beginning to chafe at being kept from Miss Bartley, when one morning her servant rode over with a note.

“DEAR COUSIN WALTER,—­Will you kindly send me back my opera glass?  I want to see what is going on at Clifford Hall.

“Yours affectionately,

“MARY BARTLEY.”

Walter wrote back directly that he would bring it himself, and tell her what was going on at Clifford Hall.

So he rode over and told her of Julia Clifford’s arrival, and how his father had deputed him to attend on her, and she took up all his time.  It was beginning to be a bore.

“On the contrary,” said Mary, “I dare say she is very handsome.”

“That she is,” said Walter.

“Please describe her.”

“A very tall, dark girl, with wonderful eyebrows; and she has broken in Black Bess, that some of us men could not ride in comfort.”

Mary changed color.  She murmured, “No wonder the Hall is more attractive than the farm!” and the tears shone in her eyes.

“Oh, Mary,” said Walter, reproachfully, “how can you say that?  What is Julia Clifford to me?”

“I can’t tell,” said Mary, dryly.  “I never saw you together through my glasses, you know.”

Walter laughed at this innuendo.

“You shall see us together to-morrow, if you will bless one of us with your company.”

“I might be in the way.”

“That is not very likely.  Will you ride to Hammond Church to-morrow at about ten, and finish your sketch of the tower?  I will bring Miss Clifford there, and introduce you to each other.”

This was settled, and Mary was apparently quite intent on her sketch when Walter and Julia rode up, and Walter said: 

“That is my cousin, Mary Bartley.  May I introduce her to you?”

“Of course.  What a sweet face!”

So the ladies were introduced, and Julia praised Mary’s sketch, and Mary asked leave to add her to it, hanging, with pensive figure, over a tombstone.  Julia took an admirable pose, and Mary, with her quick and facile fingers, had her on the paper in no time.  Walter asked her, in a whisper, what she thought of her model.

“I like her,” said Mary.  “She is rather pretty.”

“Rather pretty!  Why, she is an acknowledged beauty.”

“A beauty?  The idea!  Long black thing!”

Then they rode all together to the farm.  There Mary was all innocent hospitality, and the obnoxious Julia kissed her at parting, and begged her to come and see her at the Hall.