She dropped her eyes, but did not reply. “When shall I see you again, Em.?” he pleaded. “When you come again. Father said he would be glad to have you,” she murmured without raising her eyes. “And _you_, will you be glad to see me?” Susan Palmer bustled into the room before the girl could reply. Ronald dropped Em.’s hand and turned away. John came in and announced the horses, for there were two. “I have ordered a groom to attend you, sir, that he may bring back the beasts without giving you any trouble,” Palmer explained. “You give yourself a great deal of trouble, my friend,” said Ronald. “No, the animals need exercise. I am glad of the chance of giving it to them. Between you and me, sir, two-thirds of their number ought to be sold, and so I have told the agent time and again. What good do they do standing in their stalls? Well, sir, Lord bless you!” said John, heartily shaking the offered hand of his departing guest. Ronald Bruce then took leave of Susan and of Em., holding the girl’s hand a little while in hope that she would raise her blue eyes once to his own. But she did not, so he pressed the little hand and left her. Then Em. slipped out of the room and flew up to her attic chamber and placed herself at the window which commanded a view of the mountain path by which Ronald Bruce left the house. She saw him ride away slowly up the mountain until he reached the entrance of an evergreen thicket, which would soon conceal him from view. There he paused and turned to look back at the house which contained his idol. To Em.’s dismay his eyes caught her as she watched him from the window. He raised his hat, bowed very low and rode slowly and reluctantly into the thicket, where he disappeared. Em. remained at the window, gazing up the now deserted mountain path, lost in thought. “To think that he should have remembered me so long! To think he, a cultured and refined man of good family, should care for me so much—for me, the child of a workman; a poor, half educated girl! Yet he _does_ care for me. But, oh! I wish he had not held my hand so long or dropped it so suddenly when poor mother came in. If there was any harm in his holding my hand, why _did_ he hold it? Or if there was _no_ harm, why did he drop it so quickly? I don’t understand! I wonder what will come of it all! Oh, how I do wish I could look into the future!” “EM.!” She started from her dreamy reverie. It was her mother’s voice calling loudly from the foot of the stairs. “Yes, ma’am; I’m coming directly,” she answered, as she hurried down from the attic. Susan was at the foot of the stairs. “Where have you been all this time, girl?” “Only upstairs, mother.”