But one day now remained of Mrs. Harrington's unwelcome visit. The whole party, except Elizabeth, were to start for New York in the morning, where Mrs. Harrington had resolved to open a splendid succession of receptions and parties in Elsie's behalf.

This last day Elsie declared should be the crowning pleasure of Mrs. Harrington's visit. They would ride down to the sea-side tavern on horseback, have a chowder party on the precipice behind it, looking out upon the ocean, and return home at dusk or by moonlight, as caprice might determine. Mr. Rhodes and Miss Jemima were to be included, and some of the colored servants were forwarded early in the morning to superintend the arrangements.

The dew was hanging thick and bright on the lawn when Mr. Rhodes and his daughter rode up to the Piney Cove mansion. A group of horses were gathered in front of the veranda, and a little crowd of ladies, in long sweeping dresses, gauntlet gloves and pretty hats, stood chatting around the door.

Mr. Rhodes preferred to sit on his handsome bay horse, and wait for the party to arrange itself, for it was rather inconvenient for him to mount and dismount the high-stepping beast oftener than was absolutely necessary. As for Jemima, she rode a long-limbed, slender-bodied horse, and sat him in grim dignity, as the dames of old occupied their high-backed chairs. Her beaver hat towered high, and the stiff tuft of feathers that rose from it in front gave a dash of the military to her usually defiant aspect, grimly imposing.

She drew her horse up to the front steps, and sat viciously regarding the city widow, as that lady shook out the folds of her riding-skirt, pulled the gauntlets to a tighter fit on her shapely hands, and kept her cornelian-headed riding-whip in a constant state of vibration, for the benefit of that evidently too admiring widower on the great bay horse.

The party mounted at last, and cantered in a gay cavalcade across the lawn, leaving the mansion behind them almost in solitude. It was a lovely day, bright with sunshine, and freshened by a cool breeze from the ocean. Mrs. Mellen that day seemed among the most joyous of the party. Whatever care had hitherto possessed her she evidently threw off; her sweet voice rang out pleasantly, and her face grow beautiful in the animation of the moment.

For a while the party moved on at random; but when the road branched off into a long tract of the woodland the equestrians naturally broke up into pairs, and, either by chance or design, Mr. North joined Elizabeth, who was riding a little in advance. It was almost the first time that he had seemed to prefer her society during his whole visit, and this movement naturally created a little observation. Elsie looked after the splendid pair as they rode under the overhanging trees, with an expression of subdued wonder in her blue eyes, which amounted almost to dismay. Mrs. Harrington laughed with as much meaning as her small share of intellect could concentrate on one idea, and said in a low voice to Elsie:

"Did I not tell you they had met before? She has been playing dutiful like a martyr. See how she breaks out now. Look! look! she is turning down a cross road; it is a mile farther round."

"We will go on direct," said Elsie. "If my brother's wife chooses to ride off alone with any man through the woods, let her. It was decided that we should take the highway, and we will."

Elsie spoke with decision, a cold light came into her blue eyes, and the expression about her lips was almost stern; for a moment the girl was transfigured before her friend.

At the cross roads there was a little debate. Miss Jemima turned her horse in the direction Elizabeth had taken. The generally obedient papa was following this lead, when Mr. Hawkins was sent forward to arrest him.

"Straight ahead, that's the programme," he called out, taking the gold head of his riding-whip from his mouth long enough to speak clearly, "Miss Elsie told me to call you back."

"And the—the other lady," stammered Rhodes, flushing red, to the intense scorn of the spinster.

"Oh, she's gone ahead."

"Then I take this way," exclaimed Jemima, with emphasis; "come, pa."

Mr. Rhodes had wheeled his horse half round, and was casting irresolute looks towards the two ladies riding slowly along the shady road.

"But, daughter, we cannot leave them to ride on alone."

"This—this—person is with them, and they seem to count him as a man," answered Jemima, with a gesture of intense scorn.

Mrs. Harrington here was seen to draw up her horse in the shade of a huge chestnut, and playfully beckon the widower with her whip.

"Jemima, I must. It would be underbred," cried the desperate man, riding away to the enemy.

Jemima sat upon her horse, petrified with amazement. Her father looked anxiously back when he reached the widow, with sad forebodings of the tempest that would follow, but there the spinster sat at the cross roads like an equestrian statue.

"Come, come," said the widow, touching him playfully with her whip. "Elsie is getting impatient. Now for a race."

Her spirited horse dashed forward at a run. The ponderous steed of the widower thundered after, making the forest reverberate with the heavy fall of his hoofs.

Mr. Hawkins fell into a dainty amble, and away the whole party swept into the green shadows of the woods.

Jemima looked right and she looked left. Should she ride on and leave her pa in the hands of that designing creature? Perish the thought, better anything than that! She touched her horse. It turned sharply, and swept down the highway like a greyhound. She struck him on the flank, then the tiny lash of her whip quivered about his ears till he dashed on, flinging back dust and stones with his hoofs.

The party was riding fast. Mr. Hawkins by Elsie, Mr. Rhodes close to the widow—so close, that somehow her right hand, whip and all, had got entangled with his. They were on a curve of the road, around which Jemima came sweeping like a torrent. With a single bound her horse rushed in between them, leaving the widow's gauntlet glove in the grasp of that frightened man, and the cornelian-headed whip deep in the mud of the highway.

Not a word was spoken. The widower sank abjectly down in his saddle, and with his apprehensive eyes turned sideways on the spinster, surreptitiously thrust the stray glove into the depths of his pocket. The widow, convulsed with mingled laughter and rage, gave no doubt of genuine color now, for her face was crimson. Thus, like two prisoners under military guard, they moved on, with Jemima riding in grim vigilance between them.

The spot chosen for the chowder-party commanded a splendid sea view and a broad landscape in the background, of which the distant mansion of Piney Cove was a principal object. It was an abrupt precipice, clothed, except in the very front, with a rich growth of trees; splendid masses of white pine and clumps of hemlock darkened with the deep green of their foliage such forest trees as cast their leaves from autumn till spring time. The broken precipice in front was tufted here and there with clumps of barberry bushes and other wild shrubs, which might have aided a daring adventurer to climb up it, had the temptation been sufficient.

Between this precipice and the shores of the ocean, stood the little tavern we have before spoken of, from which the negroes of Piney Point were now bringing up a huge iron pot wherein to cook the chowder, which would be nothing if not culminated in the open air, over a fire of sticks, and eaten beneath the hemlock trees.

A bridle path led to the top of this precipice, winding along the back slope of the hill, and by this route the highway party rode to the summit, some fifteen minutes before Elizabeth and Mr. North joined them. Whatever evil feelings had sprung up on the road, at least a majority of the company resolved to enjoy themselves now. Jemima entered heart and soul into the preparations, keeping a sharp eye on her father all the time. He, poor man, scarcely required her vigilance, for when a chowder was to be concocted, the stout man forgot all his gallant weaknesses, and gave his whole being up to the important subject.

Mrs. Harrington had no great talent for cookery, and feeling beaten and awed by Jemima's dashing generalship, hovered around the outskirts of the preparations, and flirting a little with Hawkins, from languid habit, rather than any special regard for the young gentleman.