Even a perception, on her part, of this selfishness in him, would not have alienated her.  Selfishness in him she loves does not chill, but augments, a woman’s affection.  Cornelia, already inclined to allow her companion every thing, would have seen nothing unbecoming in his being of the same mind himself.  He could scarcely value himself so high as she.

Meanwhile Professor Valeyon, having won his game of backgammon, hunted up his hat, made his adieux, and went to the shed for his wagon.  He perceived a figure apparently busy in buckling Dolly between the shafts, and, supposing it to be the ostler, called to him to know whether every thing was ready.

“All serene, Profess’r Valeyon,” responded the voice of Mr. Reynolds, as he led Dolly—­who seemed rather restive—­out into the yard.  “Here you are, all fixed!  I done it for you, in style.  Jump in, and I’ll give you the reins.”

“Is this the reason you were asking me what time I should start, Bill?” inquired the old gentleman, as he mounted to his seat.  “Very kind of you:  sure she’s all right?”

“Well, I ought to know something about harnessing a mare by this time, I guess!” responded Bill, with a good deal of dignity, as he handed up the reins.  “Well, well I no doubt—­no doubt!  I’m accustomed to oversee it myself, that’s all.—­Steady, Dolly!  Good-night.”

“Good-night, Profess’r Valeyon,” said Bill, who, in harnessing the mare had managed, with intoxicated ingenuity, so to twist one of the buckles of the head-gear, that every time the reins were tightened, the sharp tongue was driven in under her jaw-bone.  The wagon rattled off at an unusual speed; there was no need for a whip, and the professor congratulated himself upon the fine condition of his steed.

“Hasn’t shown such speed for years,” muttered he, admiringly.  “If I’d only been a horse-jockey, now, I could have made a fortune out of her!  Points all superb—­only wants a little training.”

They had now descended the hill on which stood the village, and were flying along the level stretch between the willow-trees.  The wheels crunched swiftly and smoothly along the ruts, or, striking sharply against a stone, made the old wagon bounce and creak.  Dolly was putting her best foot foremost, and her ears were laid back close to her head:  though that, by reason of the darkness, Professor Valeyon could not see.  He and Dolly had travelled this road in company so often, however, and every turn and dip was so well known to him, that it never would have occurred to him to feel any anxiety.  Beyond keeping a firm hold of the reins, he let the mare have her own way.

In a few minutes the willow stretch was passed, and they began to stretch with vigorous swing up the slope.  Dolly’s haunches were visible, working below in the darkness, and occasionally a spark of fire was struck from the rock by her hoof.  Really she was doing well to-night.  As they topped the brow of the slope, the professor tightened the reins a little.  It wouldn’t do to let the old mare overwork herself.  But, instead of slackening her pace, she sprang forward more swiftly than ever.