They rode on up the dark ravine until it emerged into the sunlight, then they ambled over the heath towards the Hall; many clumps of trees diversified the rolling surface of the heath, and as they emerged from these, Gusty suddenly laid his hand upon Hagar’s bridle and, growing very red in the face, dropped it again, sighing like a sough of wind in the main-sail. Surprised, Hagar looked at him, which look did not recompose his nerves at all. He stopped his horse. Hagar shot on before. He set spurs to his horse and bounded after her. With a sudden freak the wild girl gave rein to her horse and fled over the heath. Piqued, Gusty drew up and ambled along at dignified leisure. After racing to the end of her course, Hagar whirled about and came galloping back. Gusty awaited her, and then they paced on together in silence, until at length Gusty spoke out with the air of a youth who had made up his mind _to_ speak, let the consequences be what they might. “Yes, I _will_ speak, Hagar! You _must_ hear; though you cut so many shines, it is very difficult to get the chance to say a word. Hem! Hagar!” “Well, Master Gusty! I’m all attention.” “Well, then, I like you!” “Why, so I always flattered myself.” “Well, but I’m not joking—I _do_—I _do indeed_. I be whipped if I don’t!” “Really!” “Yes—and—” “Well!” “I like you more and more!” “’Pon honor, now?” “Yes, I do, Hagar. Oh! don’t look at me, you wicked witch! I like you so—so much! God Almighty _knows_ I do! better than I like my ship!” “Come!” said Hagar, seriously, almost sadly, “tell me what is there you like about me? liking is not to be lightly thrown away, if it be well based—come!” “Well, there is a—a—an attraction—a something in your face that fascinates—that—that _draws_, that _pulls_, that _nails_, that _rivets_, as it were!” The girl turned her sparkling face up to the sun, to hide the smile that was breaking through it, while she said, “Come, say that over again! Let’s hear it again, Gusty!” “Pshaw! Hagar, be serious—I love you—by my soul’s honor I do, Hagar!—truly, deeply, fervently! Look at me, Hagar; let me see your face. You are silent—you turn it quite away!” and he suddenly wheeled around and confronted her. “You are laughing, hard, hard girl! Kite’s-heart, you are laughing!” And now she flashed the full light of her eyes in his face, as she said, “I don’t know how it is that I always laugh when other people would cry. I believe I am a lineal descendant of the laughing philosopher. Now, Gusty, my childhood’s friend, I am laughing at your phantasy. You do _not_ love me; it is a mere illusion of the imagination. Your heart is cheating itself with the semblance of love, in default of the substance.” “How do you know that, Hagar?”