It was a bright June morning. The air was balmy and fresh and invigorating; it came to her nostrils as the very essence of life from the earth's great laboratory, and it gently lifted the curls which clung about her forehead and neck. The sun had not gathered its full power; its rays blessed while they did not burn. The dense foliage of the roadside trees rustled gently, showering down upon her an elfin song of gladness. All nature was a-thrill with the joy of living, and only this poor little human seemed sad and out of tune. The Prince, too, felt the call of the new day. His pointed ears were up and attentive to every sound; his neck was arched, and his nostrils stretched to the sweet waves of air. It was with some difficulty his rider succeeded in holding him down to a walk. He longed to run--to race with the morning, for this was his breeding through a long, long line of ancestors. To feel the keen wind in his face, to have it rushing past his ears and plucking at his mane and dashing in his eyes; to know the earth was reeling beneath his flying hoofs and that nothing could gain a place in front of him! But his rider kept a firm hold on the reins, and pursued her way in a walk. She would reach her destination soon enough. How she wished the interview was over and done, and she was now on her return trip! She believed she would have let The Prince run, then. The road took a turn a few rods in advance. She knew the place. When she had rounded that bend the house of Devil Marston would be in view. She shut her eyes as she neared it, and breathed a little prayer for strength and guidance.