Then suddenly in front of them they found a deep chasm, with the white road leading down through its cool shadows.  There was the channel of a stream, with the rocks looking purple amid the gray bushes; and here were rich meadows, with cattle standing deep in the grass and the daisies; and over there, on the other side, a strip of forest, with the sunlight shining along one side of the tall and dark-green pines.  As they drove down into this place, which is called the Rocky Valley, a magpie rose from one of the fields and flew up into the firs.

“That is sorrow,” said Mabyn.

Another one rose and flew up to the same spot.

“And that is joy,” she said, with her face brightening.

“Oh, but I saw another as we came to the brow of the hill, and that means a marriage,” her companion remarked to her.

“Oh no,” she said quite eagerly, “I am sure there was no third one:  I am certain there were only two.  I am quite positive we only saw two.”

“But why should you be so anxious?” Trelyon said, “You know you ought to be looking forward to a marriage, and that is always a happy thing.  Are you envious, Mabyn?”

The girl was silent for a moment or two.  Then she said, with a sudden bitterness in her tone, “Isn’t it a fearful thing to have to be civil to people whom you hate?  Isn’t it, when they come and establish a claim on you through some one you care for?  You look at them—­yes, you can look at them—­and you’ve got to see them kiss some one that you love; and you wonder she doesn’t rush away for a bit of caustic and cauterize the place, as you do when a mad dog bites you.”

“Mabyn,” said the young man beside her, “you are a most unchristian sort of person this morning.  Who is it you hate in such a fashion?  Will you take the reins while I walk up the hill?”

Mabyn’s little burst of passion still burned in her cheeks and gave a proud and angry look to her mouth, but she took the reins all the same, and her companion leapt to the ground.  The banks on each side of the road going up this hill were tall and steep:  here and there great masses of wild flowers were scattered among the grass and the gorse.  From time to time he stopped to pick up a handful, until, when they had got up to the high and level country again, he had brought together a very pretty bouquet of wild blossoms.  When he got into his seat and took the reins again he carelessly gave the bouquet to Mabyn.

“Oh, how pretty!” she said; and then she turned round:  “Wenna, are you very much engaged?  Look at the pretty bouquet Mr. Trelyon has gathered for you.”

Wenna’s quiet face flushed with pleasure when she took the flowers, and Mrs. Trelyon looked pleased and said they were very pretty.  She evidently thought that her son was greatly improved in his manners when he condescended to gather flowers to present to a girl.  Nay, was he not at this moment devoting a whole forenoon of his precious time to the unaccustomed task of taking ladies for a drive?  Mrs. Trelyon regarded Wenna with a friendly look, and began to take a greater liking than ever to that sensitive and expressive face and to the quiet and earnest eyes.