"I must go back," she muttered, clenching her hands. "I will not bend to that man's power. It was bad in London--it is worse here. And Gerald Arkel----" her thoughts made no further use of words, and her eyes followed the stalwart figure of the young man as he bounded towards the village, evidently playing at being a horse for Dicky's greater delight. With a sigh Miriam walked rapidly after them. She did not look again in the direction of Mr. Barton and his attendant demon. When she came up with them, Dicky was a mediæval knight, and Gerald his war steed. Miriam could not forbear admiring the kindly nature of the man. But his kindliness and love of play were characteristic of Gerald Arkel. He was gay, indolent, and of a sunny disposition; everybody else's best friend and his own worst enemy. He had never done a stroke of work, and apparently never intended to, since he regarded himself as his uncle's heir. Handsome and light-hearted, overflowing with animal spirits, full of exuberant vitality, he was one of those rare beings who seem created to enjoy life. Yet he was weak and self-indulgent, and without the necessary will or self-control to guide his wayward course. Miriam learned those weaknesses later--learned them, pitied and tolerated them by the love which grew up in her heart. As yet she admired him only. Young Apollo, young Hercules, a splendid specimen of manhood; but love came in the end, and with it much sorrow. Not that Miriam would have minded the sorrow so much; her life from her cradle had been one long trouble, and she was well seasoned to it. The wonder was that her evil fortunes had left no shadow, no line on her brow; for now as she walked beside Mr. Arkel, and found him so pleasant and sympathetic a character, she chatted gaily, and was, to all appearance, every whit as light-hearted as he, whose life had been one long flood of sunshine. "I am afraid you will find this place dull, Miss Crane," said Gerald. "I find it peaceful, Mr. Arkel, and that is enough for me." "You have had trouble?" he asked with quick sympathy. "My parents died while I was in my teens," explained Miriam, "and I was left a penniless orphan. Yes, I have had trouble. Shadow has been as much my portion as sunshine appears to have been yours." Gerald set down Dicky, and took his hand. "Oh, I have had my troubles too," said he easily, "but I don't feel them much. Perhaps my nature is too shallow." "Or too sunny, Mr. Arkel--if a nature can be too sunny. Did you ever read Hawthorne's 'Marble Faun'?--I believe it is called 'Transformation' in the English edition." "No." Gerald stared at the apparent irrelevancy of this question. "Why?" "Because you are so very much like one of the characters in it--a child of nature, called Donatello. You are just the kind of man children love and animals trust." "Oh, I get on pretty well with everyone," cried Gerald, tossing back his bright hair, "and everyone gets on with me."