She shrugged her shoulders. "Mark says puzzling things like that sometimes." There was another silence. "You ride a pony, don't you?" he asked presently; and the girl brightened up. Mr. Baskerville possessed some of the best ponies on Dartmoor, and sold a noted strain of his own raising. "He's going to make it up with a pony!" thought sanguine Cora. "I do. I'm very fond of riding." "Like it better than walking, I dare say?" "Yes, I do." "And you'd like driving better still, perhaps?" "No, I wouldn't." "What are the strangles?" he asked suddenly and grimly. "It's something the ponies get the matter with them." "Of course; but what is it? How does it come, and why? Is it infectious? Is it ever fatal to them?" She shook her head. "I don't know nothing about things like that." "No use having a pony if you don't understand it. The strangles are infectious and sometimes fatal. Don't forget that." Cora felt her temper struggling to break loose. She poured out a glass of water. "I promise not to forget it," she answered. "Shall I put the cheese on the table for you?? "No, I thank you--unless you'll eat some." "Nothing more, I'm sure." "We'll walk out in the air, then. With your love of nature, you'll like the growing things up on top of my hill. Mark will be back for tea, I think. But maybe you'll not stop quite so long as that." "I'll stop just as long as you like," she said. "But I don't want to tire you." "You've got your mother's patience, and plenty of it, I see. That's a good mark for you. Patience goes a long way. You can keep your temper, too--well for you that you can. Though whether 'tis nature or art in you----" He broke off and she followed him out of doors. Upon the tor he asked her many things concerning the clouds above them, the cries of the birds, and the names of the flowers. The ordeal proved terrible, because her ignorance of these matters was almost absolute. At last, unable to endure more, she fled from him, pleaded a sudden recollection of an engagement for the afternoon, and hastened homeward as fast as she could walk. Once out of sight of the old man she slowed down, and her wrongs and affronts crowded upon her and made her bosom pant. She clenched her hands and bit her handkerchief. She desired to weep, but intended that others should see her tears. Therefore she controlled them until she reached home, and then she cried copiously in the presence of her mother, her sister, and Nathan Baskerville, who had come to learn of her success. The directions of Mark, to meet him at Torry stepping-stones, Cora had entirely forgotten. Nor would she have kept the appointment had she remembered it. In her storm of passion she hated even Mark for being his father's son. Nathan was indignant at the recital, and Mrs. Lintern showed sorrow, but not surprise. "'Twas bound to be difficult," she said. "He sent Mark away, you see. He meant to get to the bottom of her."