By the time they reached Compton Ridge the moon was well up. For the last two miles Sammy had been watching the wavering shafts of light that slipped through tremulous leaves and swaying branches. As they rode, a thousand fantastic shapes appeared and vanished along the way, and now and then as the sound of their horses’ feet echoed through the silent forest, some wild thing in the underbrush leaped away into the gloomy depth. Coming out on top of the narrow ridge, the brown pony crowded closer to the big, white faced sorrel, and the girl, stirred by the weird loveliness of the scene, broke the silence with an exclamation, “O Matt! Ain’t it fine? Look there!” She pointed to the view ahead. “Makes me feel like I could keep on a goin’, and goin’, and never stop.” The man, too, felt the witchery of the night. The horses were crowding more closely together now, and, leaning forward, the girl looked up into his face; “What’s the matter, Matt? Why don’t you talk to me? You know it ain’t true what them folks said back there.” The sorrel was jerked farther away. “It’s true enough, so far as it touches me,” returned the man shortly. “When are you goin’ to the city?” “I don’t know,” she replied. “Let’s don’t talk about that to-night. I don’t want even to think about it, not to-night. You—you don’t believe what they was a sayin’, Matt; you know you don’t. You mustn’t ever believe such as that. I—I never could get along without you and Aunt Mollie and Uncle Matt, nohow.” The brown pony was again crowding closer to his mate. The girl laid a hand on her companion’s arm. “Say you don’t blame me for what they said, Matt. You know I wouldn’t do no such a thing even if I could. There mustn’t anything ever come between you and me; never—never. I—I want us always to be like we are now. You’ve been so good to me ever since I was a little trick, and you whipped big Lem Wheeler for teasin’ me. I—I don’t guess I could get along without knowin’ you was around somewhere.” She finished with a half sob. It was almost too much. The man swung around in his saddle, and the horses, apparently of their own accord, stopped. Without a word, the big fellow stretched forth his arms, and the girl, as if swept by a force beyond her control, felt herself swaying toward him. The spell was broken by the trampling of horses and the sound of loud voices. For a moment they held their places, motionless, as if rudely awakened from a dream. The sound was coming nearer. Then Young Matt spoke, “It’s Wash Gibbs and his crowd from the still. Ride into the brush quick.”