as her form was of that light and elastic description which betokens great powers of activity and exertion.  The struggle indeed was close; Henderson now plied whip and spur with redoubled energy, and the animal was approaching at full speed.  Mave, on the other hand, urged by a thousand motives, forgot everything but the necessity of exertion.  Dalton was incapable of running a step, and appeared not to know the cause of the contest between the parties.  At length Mave, by her singular activity and speed reached her lover, into whose arms she actually ran, just as Henderson had come within about half a dozen yards of the spot where she met him.  This effort, on the part of Mave, was in perfect accordance with the simple earnestness of her character; her youthful figure, her innocence of manner, the glow of beauty, and the crowd of blushing graces which the act developed, together with the joyous exultation of her triumph on reaching her lover’s arms, and thus securing to herself and him completion of so delightful a prediction—­all, when taken in at one view, rendered her being so irresistibly fascinating, that her lover could scarcely look upon the incident as a real one, but for a moment almost persuaded himself that his beloved Mave had undergone some delightful and glorious transformation—­such as he had seen her assume in the dreams of his late illness.

Henderson, finding himself disappointed, now pulled up his horse and addressed her: 

“Upon my word, Miss Sullivan—­I believe,” he added, “I have the pleasure of addressing Jeremy Sullivan’s daughter—­so far famed for her beauty—­I say, upon my word, Miss Sullivan, your speed outstrips the wind—­those light and beautiful feet of yours scarcely touch the ground—­I am certain you must dance delightfully.”

Mave again blushed, and immediately extricated herself from her lover’s arms, but before she did, she felt his frame trembling with indignation at the liberty Henderson had taken in addressing her at all.

“Dalton,” the latter proceeded, unconscious of the passion he was exciting, “I cannot but envy you at all events; I would myself delight to be a winning post under such circumstances.”

[Illustration:  PAGE 853—­ His eye, like that of his father, when enraged]

Dalton looked at him, and his eye, like that of his father, when enraged, glared with a deadly light.

“Pass on, sir,” he replied; “Mave Sullivan is no girl for the like of you to address.  She wishes to have no conversation with you, and she will not.”

“I shan’t take your word for that, my good friend,” replied Henderson, smiling; “she can speak for herself; and will, too, I trust.”

“Dear Condy,” whispered Mave, “don’t put yourself in a passion; you are too weak to bear it.”

“Miss Sullivan,” proceeded young Dick, “is a pretty girl, and as such I claim a portion of her attention, and—­should she so far favor me—­even of her conversation; and that with every respect for your very superior judgment, my good Mr. Dalton.”