“Put me down now and rest; you are tired.”

“I am not tired.”  He trudged on.  He would show her that if he had not been able to mount her on her horse, at least it was not from lack of strength.

“Please put me down; it pains me,” she said guilefully.  He stopped instantly, and selecting a clear place, seated her softly.

“I beg your pardon.  I was a brute, thinking only of myself.”

He seated himself near her, and stole a glance at her face.  Their eyes met, and he looked away.  He thought her quite beautiful.

To break the silence, she asked, a little tone of politeness coming into her voice:  “May I inquire what your name is?  I am Miss Yorke—­Miss Alice Yorke,” she added, intending to make him feel at ease.

“Gordon Keith is my name.  Where are you from?” His manner was again perfectly easy.

“From New York.”

“I thought you were.”

She fancied that a little change came over his face and into his manner, and she resented it.  She looked down the hill.  Without a word he rose and started to lift her again.  She made a gesture of dissent.  But before she could object further, he had lifted her again, and, with steady eyes bent on the stony path, was picking his way down the steep hill.

“I am dreadfully sorry,” he said kindly, as she gave a start over a little twinge.  “It is the only way to get down.  No vehicle could get up here at present, unless it were some kind of a flying chariot like Elijah’s.  It is only a little farther now.”

What a pleasant voice he had!  Every atom of pride and protection in his soul was enlisted.

When they reached the road, the young lady wanted Gordon to go off and procure a vehicle at the hotel.  But he said he could not leave her alone by the roadside; he would carry her on to a house only a little way around the bend.

“Why, I can carry a sack of salt,” he said, with boyish pride, standing before her very straight and looking down on her with frank eyes.

Her eyes flashed in dudgeon over the comparison.

“A girl is very different from a sack of salt.”

“Not always—­Lot’s wife, for instance.  If you keep on looking back, you don’t know what may happen to you.  Come on.”

Just then a vehicle rapidly driven was heard in the distance, and the next moment it appeared in sight.

“There comes mamma now,” said the girl, waving to the lady in it.

Mrs. Yorke sprang from the carriage as soon as it drew up.  She was a handsome woman of middle age and was richly dressed.  She was now in a panic of motherly solicitude.

“Oh, Alice, how you have frightened me!” she exclaimed.  “You were due at the hotel two hours ago, and when your horse came without you!  You will kill me!” She clapped her hands to her heart and panted.  “You know my heart is weak!”

Alice protested her sorrow, and Keith put in a word for her, declaring that she had been dreadfully troubled lest the horse should frighten her.