He slowly drew the long, keen, shining blade, and saw again the name "Grace Hilland," and for a time he saw nothing else. Suddenly he turned the sword and on the opposite side was "Warren Hilland," and he shook his head sadly. "Alford, what _is_ the matter?" his aunt asked impatiently. "Why didn't they have their names engraved together?" he muttered slowly, "It's a bad omen. See, a sword is between their names. I wish they had been together. Oh, I wish Hilland could be kept out of the field!" "There it is, Alford," began his aunt, irritably; "you men who don't believe anything are always the victims of superstition. Bad omen, indeed!" "Well, I suppose I am a fool; but a strange chill at heart struck me for which I can't account;" and he sprang up and paced the floor uneasily. "Well," he continued, "I would bury it in my own heart rather than cause her one hour's sorrow, but I wish their names had been together." Then he took it up again and said: "Beautiful as it is, it may have to do some stern work, Grace--work far remote from your nature. All I ask is that it may come between Hilland and danger again. I wish I had not had that strange, cursed presentiment." "Oh, Alford! I never saw you in such a mood, and on Christmas morning, too!" "That is just what I don't like about it--it's not my habit to indulge such fancies, to say the least. Come what may, however, I dedicate the sword to her service without counting any cost;" and he kissed her name, and laid the weapon reverently aside. "You are morbid this morning. Go to the door and see my present to you. You will find no bad omens on his shining coat." Graham felt that it was weak to entertain such impressions as had mastered him, and hastened out. There, pawing the frozen ground, was a horse that satisfied even his fastidious eye. There was not a white hair in the coal-black coat. In his enthusiasm he forgot his hat, and led the beautiful creature up and down, observing with exultation his perfect action, clean-cut limbs, and deep, broad chest. "Bring me a bridle," he said to the man in attendance, "and my hat." A moment later he had mounted. "Breakfast is getting cold," cried his aunt from the window, delighted, nevertheless, at the appreciation of her gift. "This horse is breakfast and dinner both," he shouted, as he galloped down the path. Then, to the old lady's horror, he dashed through the trees and shrubbery, took a picket-fence in a flying leap, and circled round the house till Mrs. Mayburn's head was dizzy. Then she saw him coming toward the door as if he would ride through the house; but the horse stopped almost instantly, and Graham was on his feet, handing the bridle to the gaping groom. "Take good care of him," he said to the man, "for he is a jewel." "Alford," exclaimed his aunt, "could you make no better return for my gift than to frighten me out of my wits?"