The husband and wife galloped joyously on for miles and miles in the soft light of that delicious afternoon; with every step the gloom and the shadows seemed to lift themselves from each heart, till they were cordial and gay almost as Elsie herself.

These few happy hours, soon to be dimly overclouded, were so bright and sweet, that even in the midst of after trouble, their memory would come up like fragments of exquisite melody, haunting those two people.

Whatever the secret was which oppressed Elizabeth, its recollection was put aside for the time, and Mellen gave himself up to the pleasure of the hour with all the intensity of a nature which enjoys and suffers so sharply, that even trifles can make for it a keener excitement than great happiness or acute suffering bring to more placid characters.

"You are not tired, Bessie?"

"Tired, no! I could ride on forever!"

"See how the waters shine in the sun; they seem so full of joyous, buoyant life, that it gives one strength to watch them."

Elizabeth could fully share in his enthusiasm, and she allowed her poetical fancy full play, indulging in beautiful comparisons and earnest talk, which unveiled a phase of her nature seldom revealed except to those who knew her well.

"I never heard a woman talk as you can," said Mellen, admiringly; "we shall have you writing books, or coming out as a genius yet."

Elizabeth laughed gaily.

"You need not be afraid; I know you would not like it."

"Indeed I should not; it springs from my selfishness I know, but I like to keep your real self entirely for my own life."

The afternoon was wearing away when they turned homewards, but still retained its brightness and beauty, as their hearts kept the new glow which warmed them.

They galloped down the long hills and through the level groves till they were nearly home.

The sunlight faded—a strong breeze swept up from the ocean, and a sudden cloud obscured the sun; one of those abrupt changes so common in autumn fell upon the sea, robbing the day of its loveliness, and making it so cold and leaden that it was more than dreary from contrast with the glorious morning.

They were near the gates which led into their own domain, when a man came running swiftly towards them, and as he passed looked up in Elizabeth's face.

Whether her horse was frightened by the stranger rushing so abruptly past him, or whether she gave some nervous jerk to the reins, was not apparent; but a sharp cry rang from her lips, the horse made a simultaneous spring, and though a good rider, Elizabeth was unseated and thrown from her saddle. Mellen sprang from his horse and bent over his wife.

"I am not hurt," she said faintly, "not hurt."

The old woman who lived in a little house at the entrance of the grounds which they had transformed into a lodge, came out at that moment, and being a Yankee woman of energy and resources, caught Elizabeth's horse, and was ready to lend a helping hand wherever it might be required.

While this woman led the two horses within the gates and fastened them, Mellen raised his wife and carried her into the lodge. She was deathly pale and trembling violently, though in reply to his anxious inquiries, she repeated the same answer:

"I am not hurt—not at all hurt."

She drank a glass of water, lay down for a few moments on a cane-bottomed settee, which the room boasted as its principal elegance, then insisted upon rising.

Mellen sent the woman on to the house, with orders for the people to send down the carriage, as he would not have permitted Elizabeth to walk, even if her strength had seemed more equal to the exertion than it really was.

"Did that man frighten the horse?" he asked, when she appeared composed enough to speak. "The whole thing was over before I knew it—even before I saw him clearly he was gone—you cried out—the horse started—"

"No!" she answered with feverish earnestness, "the horse started first—I should not have shrieked but for that—why should I?"

"The scoundrel must have frightened the horse; did you recognise him?"

"He was running fast, you know, and darted into the woods so suddenly."

"I should like to have lain hands on him!"

"He meant no harm. Gipsy has grown shy of late. Don't think about the matter—there is no mischief done."

"But there might have been great danger; I cannot bear even now to think of it."

Elizabeth closed her eyes wearily; her recent elation of spirits was quite gone. She looked so pale and ill that Mellen could not feel satisfied that she had suffered no injury.

"You are sure that the fall has not hurt you, Bessie?"

"Quite sure," she answered, in the same changed voice; "don't trouble yourself about me. I was only frightened."

Mellen could not understand her manner, but he said nothing more. She lay back on the settee, and closed her eyes while he stood there regarding and wondering whether she lay thus from weakness or to escape further conversation.

At last the woman returned and announced that the carriage would be down immediately.

"That are man frightened the horse," she said; "I was a looking out of the window—it's my belief he's a hanging about the place for no good."

"Have you ever seen him before?" asked Mellen.

"Why, I think it's the chap you was a talking with one day, Mrs. Mellen," said the woman.

"I thought you did not know him?" observed Mellen, turning quickly towards his wife.

She sat upright, gave him one of her quick, indignant glances, and answered coldly:

"I simply said he ran by me so fast I could not tell whether I knew him or not."

"Wal, it was the same fellow," pursued Mrs. Green; "I'm sure of that."

"Do you remember?" questioned Mellen.

"I do not," replied Elizabeth haughtily.

Mellen colored and bit his lip, but he saw the woman looking curiously at them and said no more.

"I wish, Mrs. Green," he said, "you would take great care to close the gates at night; we are near enough the city for dangerous characters to stray down here."

"Law, sar, we're just as careful as can be. There ain't a night we don't shut and lock the gates. I hope we ain't a coming to no blame; I'm a lone woman and Jem's a cripple. It would be hard on us."

Mellen tried to stop her flood of protestations and appeals, but she insisted upon telling the whole story of every misery she had endured during her life, before she would pause in her plea of sorrow for an instant. By that time the carriage fortunately arrived and they were able to escape the sound of her tongue.

The husband and wife drove somewhat silently home. Mellen was very anxious about Elizabeth, who had recovered her usual serenity of temper, and could do her best to reassure him, though the color would not come back to her face, nor the startled look die out of her eyes.

When they reached the house, Elsie was standing on the steps, and ran down to the carriage full of alarm, having just learned that Elizabeth had met with some accident, while Tom came forward more anxious still.

"Are you hurt? are you hurt?" demanded Elsie.

Elizabeth assured her that she was not in the least injured, tried to laugh at Mellen's solicitude, but looked very nervous still.

"You are sure you are not hurt?" urged Tom.

"Perfectly sure."

"Maybe I'd better run after a doctor though?"

"Nonsense, Tom," she said, a little impatiently, "when I tell you I am not hurt in the least."

Tom and Elsie cried out together to know how the accident had happened, but Mellen gave a very brief explanation, while Elizabeth entered the hall and sat down in a chair to rest.

Tom ran to bring her a glass of wine which she did not want, and they all worried her with their solicitude, till it required great patience to restrain herself from breaking away from them rudely and rushing into the solitude she so much needed.

"If I had hold of the creature that scared the horse, I'd mill him," cried Tom, irately.

"I don't suppose he was to blame," said Elsie.

"Of course not," added Elizabeth; "of course not."

Mellen made no remark; he was watching Elizabeth, who still looked pale and oppressed.

"Do you feel better?" he asked.

"Much, I assure you; don't be frightened about me."

"Bessie is such a heroine!" cried Elsie.

Elizabeth gave one of the irritated looks with which she had sometimes regarded Elsie of late, but made no remark.

"She's a trump!" said Tom; "that's all there is about it."

Elsie laughed.

"I shall go up to my room and lie down," Elizabeth said; "an hour's rest will restore me completely."

Mellen assisted her upstairs and Elsie accompanied them, quite ready to accept Elizabeth's assurance that she was not injured, and doing her best to make them both laugh.

"Accidents seem the order of the day," she said; "it's lucky for us, Bessie, that we always have some one near to help us."

"Yes," was the weary reply.

"Do you think you could go to sleep now?" Mellen asked.

"Perhaps so," she said; "I will try, at all events."

"The best thing for you," said Elsie. "I'll sit with you a little while, and be still as a mouse."

Elsie was never sorry to escape from sickness or unpleasant occurrences of any kind, and could be of no more use in trouble than a canary-bird or a hot-house blossom. But just now she had an object in remaining.

The moment Mellen had withdrawn, she took North's letter from its hiding-place, and thrust it into Elizabeth's hand.

"Thank heaven I've got rid of it at last," she exclaimed, shaking the flounces of her dress as if the note had left some contamination behind.

"How did you get it?" faltered Elizabeth, looking at the folded paper with strained eyes, as if it had been an asp which she held by the neck.

"Oh, Elizabeth, he was in this very room."

"Here! here! Great heavens! why will no one shoot this man?" exclaimed the tortured woman.

"I thought of it, upon my word I did," said Elsie. "But, then, I don't know how to fire off a pistol!"

"How madly we are talking!" said Elizabeth, pressing one hand to her throbbing forehead.

Elsie pressed her own soft palm upon the strained hand, striving to soothe the evident pain. But Elizabeth shrunk away from the half caress, and said, in a low, husky voice:

"Leave me, Elsie, leave me; I will deal with this alone."

The young girl went away with a sense of relief. Then Elizabeth started up in bed, tore open the hateful note, and read it through.