One fair day soon after my coming, Constance rode out to make us a visit, emerging from the shadows of the trees like an angel of light, which indeed she was; for straightway the place seemed as if enchanted. Giving her scarce a minute to greet Mrs. Blake, I hurried her away to show her the farm, but more that I might have her to myself during the short time she was to stay. Forgetful of all else except the happiness of being together, we wandered hand in hand in the edge of the forest, till at last, tired out, we sat down beneath an oak to watch the sky and sleeping clouds—except, indeed, when we were looking into each other’s faces, which I know was the case most of the time. This until long after the hour when she should have started for home. Then, hastening, I brought her horse, and mounting one myself, rode beside her to the door of the Dragon, which we reached soon after dark. Returning as in a trance, I could not believe it night or that I was alone, for the sky was ablaze with stars, every one of which seemed to reflect back her image or to be the brighter for her having seen it. The beauty of the Blakes’ surroundings was such as one does not often meet with at this time, though it was common enough before the forests that lined the great river were disturbed by the hand of man. On every side the farm was bordered about by tangled shrubbery and overhanging trees, and now, it being autumn, they were tinged with a thousand shades of color, not one remaining steadfast, but shifting with the varying light, revealing some new beauty with each changing reflection of the sun. On one side, upon a ridge of sand, oaks with gnarled and rugged sides lifted their giant forms, and about the other borders boxwood and ash, mingled with maple and elm, grew in picturesque confusion. Near by, on the very edges of the farm, elders and a thousand vagrant bushes struggled to outdo each other in growth and show of beauty. Farther out, in the stubble of the field, fat weeds, green as in midsummer, uplifted their heads defiantly, as if shouting to the passer-by, "See! after all, nothing comes of thrift." In the meadow, and in homely confusion, wild sunflowers and rosin-weeds projected their stems high in the air, and upon these meadowlarks and bobolinks sat and sang the day through. To one side of the farm, and along an old and abandoned highway, grasses and flowers spread quite across the sunken road, and on both its sides bushes crowded forward in confusion and such precipitancy of haste that in many places one could scarce make headway. Above this scramble of green the trees spread their limbs, and the sky peering down between their slender branches looked like a glimpse of some far-off summer sea. *CHAPTER XXXV* *CONSPIRACY IN BLACK HAWK’S CABIN*