The shores of Wilk's Run were as varied as the caprices of a coquette. Here the rocks rose up bold and steep, with broken faces over which trailed green and graceful ferns, and in whose clefts and niches bloomed in spring clusters of the pale-red columbines. Again the groves of birch and poplar, or the copses of walnut-trees, grew quite down to the water's edge, their golden or silver trunks gleaming out of the half-luminous dusk of their leaves. Occasionally a tiny meadow would be planted upon the brook's bank, fringed with rushes and moisture-loving plants; while at another spot the turf, level and verdant, formed a greensward fit for the foot of a princess or a fairy. It was to a nook shut in by a wall of rocks, and carpeted with the softest grass, that Will and Ease came after rambling about for a time. A large golden birch stood near the middle of the open space, its leaves forever quivering, aspen-like, and mingling their murmur with the ripple of the brook, until only the "talking-bird" seemed needed to complete the trio of the garden of the Princess Parizade. Knots of golden-rod, and the purple tassels of the asters, fringed the foot of the rocky wall half enclosing the place; and there, too, the nightshade trailed its rich clusters of claret-hued berries. The leaves of the woodbine, which had climbed up the rocks on one side, contesting every foothold with a wild grape-vine now hanging heavy with purple clusters, had begun to turn crimson with ripeness, and furnished a mass of high color.

The schoolgirls of Montfield, like schoolgirls in general, more sentimental than original, had named this place "Lovers' Retreat;" not, indeed, that tradition or history recorded that any lovers ever did, might, could, would, or should retreat thither, but because the spot and the name had both a gentle fascination for their maiden bosoms.

The popgun for which Will and Ease came to look was not to be found, having, doubtless, long since mouldered into dust. The search for it, however, called up a thousand reminiscences, over which they chatted and laughed like children.

"This is a vast deal better than going to church," Will said, stretching himself comfortably at the feet of his companion, who sat leaning against the trunk of the birch-tree. "I am glad Floss left us. What a queer little thing she is!"

"Do you remember the time we went nutting," said Ease, "and Emily Purdy ran away with the horse, so that we had to walk home?"

"I guess I do! That was the time you turned your ankle, and your aunt Tabitha accused me of having lamed you for life."

"Yes. And Mrs. Brown got along with her infallible lotion the day after I first walked out. She was so astonished when she met me!"

"That's precisely the way she did when Sol Shankland was hit in the eye with 'old Thunderbust.' You remember the ball we called 'old Thunderbust,' don't you?"

Very good companions had these two always been, but without a thought of love between them. They were too frank, too calmly happy together, for love. The old days, the old memories, cast a soft glow over all their relations with each other,—a light not love, but the rosy hues of a dawn that was yet to be, the luminous foretelling of the sun of passion before the day. They often alluded lightly to the persons they meant to marry,—ideals which unconsciously they made somehow like each other, even when intended most to be different.

"It seems to me," Will remarked this afternoon, in a dispassionate tone, "that Frank Breck goes to see you often enough."

"Doesn't he! I wish he wouldn't. Were ever two brothers more unlike than he and Hazard?"

"They are different. Hazard is a royal fellow, but the less said of Frank the better."

"Yes: only"—

"Only what?"

The temptation of an appreciative listener has elicited many a secret which sharpest tortures could not have wrung from its possessor. Ease had no intention of disclosing to her friend the troubles which buzzed gnat-like about her ears at home; but the time, the place, and, more than all, his interested face and his often-proved sympathy won the tale from her.

"It all came about," she said, "before I understood any thing of it; and now I don't know the whole story. There is something about a will that I've no clew to."

"Really, this is an impressive beginning," Sanford said. "You don't mind if I smoke?"

"No. I noticed that aunt Tabitha acted queerly when Frank Breck's name was mentioned, or rather I remember it now; but it has always seemed as if every thing that happened at Mullen House was strange some way. I've always seemed to be somebody else, and not myself, ever since I came here to live."

"It is strange," Will assented. "It is a sort of ogre's castle, and your aunt, 'savin' yer presince,' is the ogress."

"Aunt Tabitha has always been a puzzle to me," Ease said, "and I never attempt to understand her ways."

"Who does?" he asked.

"Frank kept coming and coming," continued she, "and getting more and more bothersome, and"—

"More what?"

"Bothersome, acting foolish, you know, about me, as if he were—well you understand, of course, what I mean. I don't think I'm vain; but he did act as if he was—why, as if he liked me."

"Made love to you, you mean?"

"Yes: I suppose so."

"The puppy!"

"Why, that wasn't any harm, was it?" she asked naÏvely. "Only, of course, I hate to have him about all the time, and I never liked him very well."

"I should hope not," the young man interpolated with emphasis.

"Not that he ever troubled me much, for of course I didn't let him; but he wanted to."

"Look here," Will exclaimed, sitting up. "I've always been like a brother to you, Ease, and now you are in a place where you need a brother more than ever. I think I'd better hint gently to that young donkey that he'd find it safer to let you alone."

"Oh, no, no!" she replied. "You mustn't let anybody know that you know this. Aunt Tabitha told me not to say a word to anybody, and particularly to you. I'm not sure I didn't promise not to tell, but I must talk to somebody. There is something or other they don't tell me about a will; and aunt Tabitha says we shall both be paupers, if I don't do as she wishes."

"Do as she wishes? What does she want you to do?"

"She has promised him that I shall marry him," Ease said earnestly, with cheeks like the petals of a damask rose.

"The devil she has!"

"Hush! You mustn't talk so. Of course she wouldn't make me; but, if she did, what could I do?"

"Do!" he exclaimed hotly. Then suddenly he changed his tone to one of cool impartiality. "If she makes you marry him, of course you'll have to do it."

"But you wouldn't like to be made to marry him," she said, half crying.

"No," he replied with an air of great candor. "I don't fancy I should. Frank Breck," he added vehemently, "is his father over again. I wonder if Putnam knows what he's about."

"Oh, he couldn't!" Ease returned. "I don't understand it myself; only you mustn't let any one know I've told you any thing."

"Look here, Ease," her companion said, flinging his cigar halfway across Wilk's Run, and taking her hand in his. "I want you to make me a promise—yes, two of them."

"What are they?"

"Will you promise?"

"If I can."

"Of course you can. The first is, that, if you get into any trouble where I can help you, you'll let me know. Do you promise that?"

"Yes, I promise that; and I thank you for being such a dear good brother."

"The second is, that, whatever happens, you won't marry Frank Breck."

"But, Will"—

"No: no buts. Either promise, or don't promise; but don't put in ifs and buts."

"But I must. There is aunt Tabitha."

"Aunt Tabitha be hanged! I beg your pardon; but she has always used you shamefully, bossing you round, and"—

"We agreed long ago," she interrupted, "not to discuss her."

"Very well. Only I wish you'd promise me."

"How can I, when I might not be able to keep my promise?"

"Good heavens, Ease!" he exclaimed, springing up, and pacing excitedly to and fro on the greensward. "It is enough to make a man go mad to hear you talk in that cold-blooded way about marrying Frank Breck. You can't marry him; and, what's more, you sha'n't marry him!"

"Hark!" she said.

They heard the sound of wheels, stopping immediately after upon the bridge, and then the voice of Burleigh Blood.

"It isn't Flossy," Will said.

"It must be," Ease answered. "There, don't you hear her call?"

"What of it? Let her go home. When she finds we are not there, they'll send back for us. I want to talk to you."

"Oh, no, no!" Ease said, hurrying along towards the bridge. "Aunt Tabitha didn't want me to come, anyway, and she'd be wild if she knew we hadn't been to church."

"I should think you were old enough to decide something for yourself," he growled, giving her his hand to help her over the stones.

The buggy would hardly accommodate four: so Burleigh was forced to complete his journey on foot, the others driving merrily away with bantering good-bys. They had driven only a short distance when they encountered a buggy driven violently.

"Why, isn't that Tom Putnam?" exclaimed Will. "What on earth's got him?"

"And this horrid, bold-looking woman with him," Flossy remarked reflectively.