She had stretched out her hand, but Roland, affecting not to notice it, raised his hat and turned away. Presently, and although, in spite of many a vice, he was little given to drink, he found himself at the bar superintending the blending of gin, of lemon-peel, and of soda; and as he swallowed it and put the goblet down he seemed so satisfied that the barkeeper, with the affectionate familiarity of his class, nodded and smiled. "It takes a Remsen Cooler to do the trick, don't it?" he said. And Roland, assenting remotely, left the bar and sought his room. The next morning, as through different groups he sought for matron and for maid, he had a crop under his arm and in his hand a paper. "I have been settling my bill," he announced. "But are you going?" exclaimed Mrs. Metuchen. "I can hardly take up a permanent residence here, can I?" he replied. "Oh, Justine," the old lady cried, and clutched the girl by the arm, "persuade him not to." And fixing him with her glittering eyes, she added, "If you go, sir, you leave an Aiken void." The jest passed him unnoticed. He felt that something had been said which called for applause, for Mrs. Metuchen was laughing immoderately. But his eyes were in Justine's as were hers in his. "You will ride, will you not? I see you have your habit on." And with that, Justine assenting, he led her down the steps and aided her to the saddle. There are numberless tentative things in life, and among them an amble through green, deserted lanes, where only birds and flowers are, has witcheries of its own. However perturbed the spirit may have been, there is that in the glow of the morning and the gait of a horse that can make it wholly serene. The traveller from Sicily will, if you let him, tell of hours so fair that even the bandits are coerced. Man cannot always be centred in self; and when to the influence of nature is added the companionship of one whose presence allures, the charm is complete. And Roland, to whom such things hitherto had been as accessories, this morning felt their spell. The roomy squalor of the village had been passed long since. They had entered a road where the trees arched and nearly hid the sky, but through the branches an eager sunlight found its way. Now and then in a clearing they would happen on some shabby, silent house, the garden gay with the tender pink of blossoming peach; and at times, from behind a log or straight from the earth, a diminutive negro would start like a kobold in a dream and offer, in an abashed, uncertain way, a bunch of white violets in exchange for coin. And once an old man, trudging along, saluted them with a fine parabola of hat and hand; and once they encountered a slatternly negress, very fat and pompous, seated behind a donkey she could have carried in her arms. But practically the road was deserted, fragrant, and still.