“Cecil admired her, I am sure, although he left so soon! I hope from my heart that it will be a match. It would please me better than anything else in the world! How fortunate that he returned just now when he was least expected. It must have been fate!” Unconscious of Mrs. Barry’s designs against her single blessedness, Molly jogged along soberly toward Lewisburg, having been scolded into sedateness by lazy old Uncle Abe. There must have been a fate in it as the old lady said, for just as their horses came opposite the park gates at Maple Shade, Cecil Laurens rode out on a magnificent black horse, bowed and smiled, and cantered to Molly’s side. “Good morning, Miss Barry, good morning, Uncle Abe. A bright day,” he said. Molly bowed with a half defiant air. What evil sprite had sent this man again across her path? Yet she gazed as if fascinated in unwilling admiration at his handsome face which in the clear open light of day showed at its best. What dark, tender depths there were to his violet eyes, how regularly handsome his features, how the sun brought out the rare shade of his thick mustache and clustering masses of gold-brown hair. Then his figure, how tall and manly it was as it sat with martial grace in the saddle. “I hate him, but--he is rather good-looking,” she admitted to herself, with reluctant justice. “Marse Cece,” burst in Uncle Abe, with startling abruptness, “aine you gwine to de pos’-office, too?” “Yes, Uncle Abe.” The artful old negro chuckled audibly: “How fort’nit, how werry fort’nit,” he observed. “Now you kin take keer o’ Miss Looisy on her ride, ef you please, sah, fo’ my hoss done cast his shoe, and I got to turn off dis road and take him to de black-smiff!” “Uncle Abe, you are an old story-teller. There is nothing the matter with the horse. I’ll tell Aunt Thalia if you don’t come straight along with me!” threatened Molly in comical distress and anger combined; but the cunning old fellow was already galloping off, leaving her to the tender mercies of Cecil Laurens. “Do not mind him, Miss Barry,” said the young man. “I will take as good care of you as Uncle Abe.” She pouted and turned her horse’s head. “I am going back to Ferndale!” He caught her reins and held them as he had done before. “You are not!” he said, vexedly. “Why, what a baby you are! Why should you go back and get that old darky a scolding from Mrs. Barry? The old soul is only going into Maple Shade to chat with my servants. He has known me ever since I was a baby, and feels safe in trusting you to my care. Mrs. Barry is my godmother, too, so how can you be so unreasonable? _Come._” “I _am_ acting foolishly,” she thought, and yielded to that one word of commingled command and entreaty, telling herself that she was too anxious for a letter to turn back now. Cecil Laurens knew well the magnetic power of that low, winning voice of his. He smiled slightly as she turned and rode on by his side up the mountain.