The morning was clear and lovely.  Mrs. Austin and Dawn rode over the hills, their spirits rising at every step, under the exhilarating exercise.  A fresh breeze stirred the leaves of the trees, and made the whole air sweet and vital.  Birds carolled their songs, and made the woods vocal with praise.  Nature seemed set to a jubilant key; while fresh inspiration flowed into the heart of man as he gazed on the scene so redolent with life and beauty.

“You are as radiant as the day,” said Mrs. Austin, drawing in Arrow a little, and coming to the side of Dawn.

“Thank you for your compliment, but it’s more the reflection of the outer world, than a manifestation of myself.  One cannot but be bright on such a morning.”

“I cannot hold Arrow in longer, or I might argue on that point.”  In a moment she was out of sight, round the bend of the road.

“She does me good every moment.  I sometimes wish I did not see the conditions of life, and its states as I do.  I must keep on the surface a little more,—­so run along Jessie,” said Dawn, giving the gentle animal a little touch of the whip that caused her to canter away briskly and catch up with Arrow.  Yet it was but for an instant, for Arrow bounded off as he heard the approach, and horse and rider were soon as far in the distance as before.

At the end of the long road Mrs. Austin halted, and reined Arrow under a tree to wait for her friend.

“You are quite a stranger,” said Dawn, coming up at a slow pace.  “I’ve been taking time to enjoy the scenery.”

“So I perceive.  I thought you had dismounted and was sketching, or writing a sonnet to the woods.”

“It were most likely to have been the latter, as I never sketch anything but human character.”

“Then tell me what I am like.  Sketch me as I am.”

“You are unlike every one else,” said Dawn, in an absent manner.

“That’s a diversion.  Come to the point, and define me.  I’m a riddle, I know.”

“If you have got thus far, you can analyze yourself.  It’s a good beginning to know what you are.”

“But I cannot unriddle myself.  I have, under my rippling surface, a few deep thoughts, and good ones, and they make me speak and act better, sometimes.  I am not all foam, Dawn.”

“I never supposed you were.  There is a depth in you that you have never fathomed, because your life has been gay, and you have never needed the truths which lie deep, and out of sight.”

“But I’d rather go up than down; much rather.”

“Depth is height, and height is depth.”

“So it is.  I never thought of that before.  Dawn, you could make a woman of me.  Edward does not call me into my better self as you do.  Why is it?”

“I suppose because he does not need that manifestation of your being.  Your lives are both set to sweetly flowing music.  You have never felt the sting of want and suffering, either mental or physical, nor witnessed it to any great extent in others.”