One great reason for the warm affection cherished by “mad Lord Carthew” for his friend was Hilary’s utter absence of either arrogance or toadyism. The sturdy Yorkshire independence of young Pritchard never degenerated into the roughness which sometimes characterizes Northerners. He was proud of his family in his way. The Pritchards had farmed their own land for over two hundred and fifty years, and their present homestead had been built in the days of Elizabeth. Lord Carthew had had to make the first advances toward friendship, but once he had succeeded in winning Hilary’s respect and liking, the latter was too sensible to withdraw proudly from his companionship because he was not his equal in social position. “You worry about things, trifles as it seems to me, in such an extraordinary way,” he said. “Now this evening, what can be pleasanter than this scene, the little wood by the roadside, where every tree is budding into leaf, the primroses in yellow patches among the ground ivy, and that fresh, delicious smell of spring in the air? I’m thankful I was sent away from home to Harrow and Oxford, and an accountant’s office in London. I suppose if I’d never left the country I should never have seen any beauty in it.” “You would have felt it, but would have been unable to put it into words,” returned his friend. “Let’s explore this wood a bit, and see where it leads to.” They struck in over the moss under the young trees. Straight ahead of them, as they pushed their way through the branches, they saw a high, precipitous bank, crowned by a low stone wall, and beyond more trees. “That will be Sir Philip Cranstoun’s place again, I suppose,” observed the Viscount. “He’s got a good bit of land enclosed about here.” The words were scarcely out of his mouth when both men heard the sound of a horse’s hoofs trampling over the dry leaves and young twigs behind them. Pressing a little forward, they came to a point where a passage seemed to have been made through the trees, not much more than four feet wide. Standing within the shadow of the woods so that their figures were hidden, both young men turned their gaze in the direction of the horse’s galloping feet, and through an opening in the trees both saw at the same moment a young girl, mounted on a beautiful little black thoroughbred, flying towards them. She was making straight for the bank. Her small, half-childish face was pale, her mouth fast shut, while her great dark eyes shone with excitement. Under her soft felt hat her dark hair, tossed by the wind, fluttered in soft ringlets round her face, rebellious of the hairpins which held it in check in a coil at the back of her head. In figure she was very slender and youthful looking, and her plain dark green habit emphasized her lack of superfluous curves. Even though she passed so quickly, both the two friends received the same powerful impression of excitement, intensity, and enjoyment stamped upon her features.