One afternoon they turned into an unfrequented road that led off to the jungle from the main highway, walking their horses while they marvelled at the beauty of the foliage. The trail they knew led to a coffee plantation far up among the hills, but it was so little travelled that the verdure brushed them as they went, and in many places they passed beneath a roof of branches. Before they had penetrated a quarter of a mile they were in the midst of an unbroken solitude, shut off from the world by a riotous glory of green, yellow, and crimson. They had not spoken for a long time, and were feeling quite content with the pleasant monotony of--their journey, when they burst out into a rocky glen where a spring of clear water bubbled forth. With a common impulse they reined in; Twenty feet farther on the trail twisted into the screen of verdure and was lost. "What a discovery!" exclaimed Edith. "Help me down, please, I'm going to drink." Kirk dismounted and lent her a hand; the horses snorted appreciatively, and stepping forward, thrust their soft muzzles eagerly into the stream, then fell to browsing upon the tender leaves at their shoulders. Edith quenched her thirst, shook the cramp from her limbs, and said: "Some time we will have to see where this road leads. There may be more surprises beyond." She broke a flower from its stem and fastened it in Kirk's buttonhole, while he gazed down at her with friendly eyes. "You're looking awfully well lately," he declared. Glancing up, she met his gaze and held it for an instant. "It's the open air and the exercise. I enjoy these rides with you more than I can say." Something in her look gave him a little thrill of embarrassment. "I think I'll give Marquis and Gyp their dessert," he said, and, turning aside, began to gather a handful of the greenest leaves. The instant his eyes were off her, she took the horses by their bridles, swung them about, and with a sharp blow of her riding-crop sent them snorting and clattering down the trail. Kirk wheeled barely in time to see them disappearing. "Here!" he cried, sharply. "What are you doing?" "They bolted." "They'll hike straight for town. Now I'll have to chase--" He glanced at her sharply. "Say, why did you do that?" "Because I wanted to. Isn't that reason enough?" Her eyes were reckless and her lips white. "You shouldn't do a thing like that!" he cried, gruffly. "It's foolish. Now I'll have to run them down." "Oh, you can't catch them." "Well, I'll have a try at it, anyhow." He tossed away his handful of leaves. "Silly! I did it because I wanted to talk with you." "Well, those horses wouldn't overhear." "Don't be angry, Kirk. I haven't seen you alone since that night." "Taboga?" he said, guiltily. "You're not going to lecture me again? I'm sorry enough as it is." Never in all his life had he felt more uncomfortable. He could not bring himself to meet her gaze, feeling that his own face must be on fire.