"You are late," she said, as he clasped the slender hand extended to him in welcome. "I could ride no faster. Comet is lame." The tired bay, belying his name, stood dejectedly, one white foreleg slightly bent, as if seeking relief from a weight it was weary of bearing. By the friendly way in which he stretched forth his muzzle to touch the girl's proffered fingers, Comet was evidently not a stranger to her endearments. "Poor Comet! Why didn't you take better care of him?" "I was too impatient at the start, and that got him into trouble. After that, of course, we had to go slowly. I hated the delay. I hated having to listen to my own thoughts for so long." Her gray eyes fixed questioningly upon the bronzed, sharp-featured man, she noted his restless gaze, his riding-whip's irritable tattoo on polished boot-top as he stood at her side. Then, flinging her arms about his neck, her face, flushed with pleasure and expressive of a mingled tenderness and anxiety, turned expectantly to his. "David, you are here!" she said impulsively. "You are glad, aren't you? Say that your thoughts aren't gloomy any more." "What need to say it--Una!" Silently the two lovers threaded the box-bordered path leading to the great stone mansion beyond, pausing to admire the flowers that still bloomed in a straggling sort of way, or marking the loss of those whose gay colors and delicate fragrance had formed a part of their own joyous companionship a month ago. But this evening, as if reflecting Nature's autumn mood, there was something of melancholy--restraint, where restraint had never been before--in David's bearing; while with Una there was an affectionate solicitude that strove to soothe an unspoken trouble. "You must stay to-night," she said; "it would be cruel to ride Comet back." "But your Uncle--will he care to have me here?" "What a question! Of course he will." "Are you sure? He was in town the other day to see me. Did he tell you?" "No. But then, Uncle Harold seldom tells what he has been doing." "He was in one of his grim moods; cordial enough outwardly; but, inside, I felt a curious sort of malevolence. That's an ugly word--but it seemed just that." "Uncle Harold malevolent! That isn't very nice of you to say." "He asked me if I thought our marriage should take place." "And you said----?" "Nothing." "David!" "I am unworthy of you, Una--I feel it. There are men, you know, who have in their past things that make them unworthy the woman they love. I confess, there are dark shadows, haunting things in my past. I can't explain them, even to myself. I don't altogether know what they are--queer as that sounds! But--some day they might come between us. When I rode over just now, I made up my mind to try to tell you. You ought to know----" "David," she interrupted, "I don't want to know. I love you as you are to-day. If you were different in the past, before I knew you, I don't care to hear about it."