“I suppose that is why Molly is so anxious to hear him.  She has ordered her horse to ride over to a meeting at Piping Tree this afternoon.”

“What?” He stared in amazement.

“Young Revercomb is going to speak at an open air meeting of some kind—­political, I imagine—­and Molly is going to hear him.”

His answer was a low whistle.  “At what time?” he asked presently.

“She ordered her horse at three—­the very hottest part of the day.”

“Well, she’ll probably have sunstroke,” Gay replied, “but at any rate, I’ll not let her have it alone.”

CHAPTER XI

THE RIDE TO PIPING TREE

A look of surprise came into Molly’s face when she found Gay waiting for her, but it passed quickly, and she allowed him to mount her without a word of protest or inquiry.  She had been a good rider ever since the days when she galloped bareback on Reuben’s plough horses to the pasture, and Gay’s eyes warmed to her as she rode ahead of him down the circular drive, checkered with sunlight.  Yet in spite of her prettiness, which he had never dignified by the name of beauty, he knew that it was no superficial accident of colour or of feature that had first caught his fancy and finally ripened his casual interest into love.  The charm was deeper still, and resulted from something far subtler than the attraction of her girlish freshness—­from something vivid yet soft in her look, which seemed to burn always with a tempered warmth.  For need of a better word he called this something her “soul,” though he knew that he meant, in reality, certain latent possibilities of passion which appeared at moments to pervade not only her sensitive features, but her whole body with a flamelike glow and mobility.  While he watched her he remembered his meeting with Blossom, and the marriage to which in some perfectly inexplicable manner it had led him, but it was not in his power, even if he had willed it, to conjure up the violence of past emotions as he could summon back the outlines of the landscape which had served as their objective background.

“Molly,” he said, riding closer to her as they passed into the turnpike, “I wish I knew why we are going on this wild goose chase after the miller?”

“I’m not going after him—­it’s only that I want to hear him speak.  I don’t see why that should surprise you.”

“I didn’t know that you were interested in politics?”

“I’m not—­in politics.”

“In the miller then?”

“Why shouldn’t I be interested in him?  I’ve known him all my life.”

“The fact remains that you’re in a different position now and can’t afford a free rein to your sportive fancies.”

“He’d be the last to admit what you say about position—­if you mean class.  He doesn’t believe in any such thing, nor do I.”

“Money, my dear, is the only solid barrier—­but he’s got a wife, anyway.”