Barclugh had offered himself, and Mollie had asked a month to answer. The gnawings at a man’s heart often lead him through labyrinths of impatience and indiscretion that are hard to untangle and bring him into paths that are serene and pure. But on the other hand, it often happens that the woman withholds her answer to a man’s avowal because she must satisfy the questionings of a heart that needs more than a mere avowal to convince her that the man is sincere and thoroughly in earnest. However, the exhilaration of the gallop with Mollie had cleared the cobwebs from Barclugh’s brain. He looked upon Mollie as magnificently noble and pure. She would certainly answer him at the end of the month and if then she could not declare herself, he would know that some further proof of his devotion must be made. “Yet after all of the fine calculations that one can make,” thought he, “love thrives without reason.” Their way now lay through a wooded glen. The horses stepped smartly and pranced proudly as their nostrils extended out of their classic heads. “How beautiful this day!” exclaimed Mollie with enthusiasm. “I rejoice to be here!” as she stroked the arched neck of her steed with her shapely gloved hand. Mollie rode her horse as though she were mistress of the situation. Her feminine intuition told her that her lover was craving to declare his devotion, but she would have despised him for it. She knew that the ground on which she trod was sacred until the four weeks had passed. Yet she was fearful lest the promise to Segwuna could not be kept. Her party was to be held in two days and she was to dance in the minuet with Mr. Barclugh. She was satisfied as things were. “What makes you so happy and beautiful this evening, Miss Mollie?” ventured Barclugh at last. “I don’t know,” replied Mollie archly. “May I guess?” queried Barclugh after some reflection. “Don’t guess. I don’t like guessing,” retorted Mollie impatiently. “But you _will_ allow me this time?” returned Barclugh in his most dulcet tones. “No; I can not,” replied Mollie, as she spurred her horse and started on a canter, Barclugh following her lead. “Look! Mr. Barclugh, there is the Delaware!” exclaimed Mollie as she pointed toward a broad expanse of the river, at the same time looking at Barclugh with a roguish twinkle in her eyes. “Confound those four weeks,” thought Barclugh; then he said: “I don’t see so much in that to rave over. I am interested in better views. I am interested in you, just now.” “Nonsense! Mr. Barclugh,” protested Mollie. “You ought to have better sense,” while she good-naturedly laughed at the evident discomfiture of her lover. Barclugh now colored, for he felt sheepish in his awkward position. In another instant, however, he smiled, himself, and they rode down the banks of the Delaware discussing pleasantly the beauties of the landscape.