“Hundreds of Williams?” queried Walden suggestively.

This time it was Maryllia who laughed,—­a gay little laugh like that of a child.

“No, I guess not!” she answered; “Some of them are real Johnnies!  Oh dear me!”—­and again her laughter broke forth; “I quite forgot!  You said your name was John!”

“So it is.”  And he smiled; “I’m sorry you don’t like it!”

She checked her merriment abruptly, and became suddenly serious.

“But I do like it!  You mustn’t think I don’t.  Oh, how rude I must seem to you!  Please forgive me!  I really do like the name of John!”

He glanced up at her, still smiling.

“Thank you!  It’s very kind of you to say so!”

“You believe me, don’t you?” she said persistently.

“Of course I do!  Of course I must!  Though unhappily a Churchman, I am not altogether a heretic.’”

The smile deepened in his eyes,—­and as she met his somewhat quizzical glance a slight wave of colour rose to her cheeks and brow.  She drew herself up in her saddle with a sudden, proud movement and carried her little head a trifle higher.  Walden looked at her now as he would have looked at a charming picture, without the least embarrassment.  She appeared so extremely young to him.  She awakened in his mind a feeling of kindly paternal interest, such as he might have felt for Susie Prescott or Ipsie Frost.  He was not even quite sure that he considered her in any way out of the common, so far as her beauty was concerned,—­though he recognised that she was almost the living image of ‘the lady in the vi’let velvet’ whose portrait adorned the gallery in Abbot’s Manor.  The resemblance was heightened by the violet colour of the riding dress she wore and the absence of any head-covering save her own pretty brown-gold hair.

“I’m glad I’ve saved the old trees,” she said presently, checking her mare’s pace, and looking back at the Five Sisters standing in unmolested grandeur on their grassy throne.  “I feel a pleasant consciousness of having done something useful.  They are beautiful!  I haven’t looked at them half enough.  I shall come here all by myself this afternoon and bring a book and read under their lovely boughs.  Just now I’ve only had time to cry ‘rescue.’” She hesitated a moment, then added:”  I’m very much obliged to you for your assistance, Mr. Walden!—­and I’m glad you also like the trees.  They shall never be touched in my lifetime, I assure you I—­and I believe—­yes, I believe I’ll put something in my last will and testament about them—­something binding, you know!  Something that will set up a block in the way of land agents.  Such trees as these ought to stand as long as Nature will allow them.”

Walden was silent.  Somehow her tone had changed from kind playfulness to ordinary formality, and her eyes rested upon him with a cool, slightly depreciatory expression.  The mare was restless, and pawed the green turf impatiently.