It was on a beautiful morning in May that he asked Miss Barrington to drive with him. The air that brushed his cheek was laden with the fragrance of green-growing things, and the girl at his side had never seemed so altogether lovely. He let the reins loosen in his hands as he settled back for an hour of unalloyed enjoyment. “I am particularly glad to take this drive today,” remarked Miss Barrington, smiling into his eyes, “for, as I go away tomorrow, I may not have another opportunity of enjoying one at present.” “What?” demanded Westbrook, suddenly sitting upright. “I merely said I was going away tomorrow,” she returned merrily, picking out with intuitive skill that portion of her remark which had so startled him. Then something in his face made her add—“for the summer, you know.” Westbrook pulled the reins taut and snapped the whip sharply. Going away! Of course; why not? What of it? Yes, what of it, indeed! Long days fraught with sudden emptiness loomed up before him and stretched on into weeks devoid of charm. He understood it all now—and he a felon! He could hear a girl’s voice saying, “I knew you were a good man the minute I saw your face!” Unconsciously he shrank into the corner of the carriage, and was only brought to a realization of his action by a voice—amused, yet slightly piqued—saying: “Really, Mr. Westbrook, I hardly expected so simple a statement would render you speechless!” “Speechless? No, oh, no—certainly not! I beg your pardon, I’m sure,” he said, talking very fast. “You’re going away, you tell me. It is needless to assure you that we shall all miss you very much. Where do you go, if I may ask—and how long are you to remain?” And he turned to her with eyes so full of misery that she could scarcely believe she had heard his words aright. Before she could answer there came the wild, irregular clattering of unguided horses’ feet. Westbrook turned quickly to see two frightened animals rushing toward them dragging a swaying empty carriage. By a swift and skilful turn he just escaped the collision, but Ethel Barrington felt the hot breath of the beasts as they flew past. In another moment their own startled horse had dashed after the runaways with speed scarcely less than their own. Westbrook brought all his great strength to bear, then—the right rein snapped. The horse swerved sharply, throwing the man to his knees. The next moment he was crawling cautiously, but rapidly, over the dashboard on to the thill, then to the back of the frightened animal, where he could grasp the dangling broken reins. One strong pull, and the horse stopped so suddenly that the man shot over her head to the ground; but he did not relax his hold, and the trembling animal stood conquered. Westbrook turned to look into the shining eyes of the girl, who had leaped from the carriage and come close to his side.