Tormented thus, he turned restlessly on his pillow with many a groan and sigh, nor closed an eye in sleep till long past midnight.

He was sleeping very soundly when, about sunrise, Zoe opened her eyes.

She lay still for a moment listening to his breathing, while memory recalled what had passed between them previous to her retiring.

“And there he lies and sleeps just as soundly as if he hadn’t been playing the tyrant to the woman he promised to love and cherish to life’s end,” she said to herself, with a flash of anger and scorn in her eyes.  “Well, I don’t mean to be here when he wakes; I’ll keep out of his way till he’s had his breakfast; for they say men are always savage on an empty stomach.”

She slipped cautiously out of the bed, stole quietly into the next room, made her toilet, arraying herself in riding habit and hat, went down-stairs, ordered her pony saddled and brought to the door, and was presently galloping away down the avenue.

Edward had requested her never to go alone, always to take a servant as an attendant, even if she had one of the children with her, and especially if she had not; but she disregarded his wishes in this instance, partly from a spirit of defiance, partly because she much preferred a solitary ride, and could not see that there was any danger in it.

It was a bright spring morning, the air just cold enough to be delightfully bracing; men were at work in the fields, orchards were full of bloom and fragrance, forest trees leafing out, and springing grass and flowers making the roadsides lovely.

Zoe’s spirits rose with every mile she travelled, the perfume of flowers, the songs of birds, and all the sweet sights and sounds of nature that greeted eye, and ear, and every sense, filled her with joy.  How could she, so young and full of life and health, be unhappy in so beautiful a world?

So keen was her enjoyment that she rode farther than she had intended.  Time passed so quickly that, on looking at her watch, she was surprised to find that she would hardly be able, even at a gallop, to reach Ion by the breakfast hour.

She was a little disturbed at that, for everybody was expected to be punctual at meals.  Grandpa Dinsmore was particular about it, and she did not wish to give Edward fresh cause for displeasure.

As she galloped swiftly up the avenue, she was surprised to see him pacing the veranda to and fro, watch in hand, while his horse stood near ready saddled and bridled.

As she drew rein close by the veranda steps, Edward hastily returned his watch to its fob, sprang forward, and lifted her from the saddle.

“Good-morning, little wife,” he said with an affectionate kiss as he set her down, yet still keeping his arm about her.  “I was not so kind as I might, or should have been last night, but you will not lay it up against your husband, love?”

“No, of course not, Ned,” she returned, looking up into his face flushed and happy, that so loving an apology had been given her in place of the reproof she expected; “and you won’t hate me because I was cross when you were?”