"It's so God-blessed beautiful, Eleanor," he answered. "I can't thank you! If I lived a thousand years, I couldn't live out my thanks. I could only put up a bluff of trying."
"Dick the nth," she laughed whimsically, "Dick the nth for the United
States of the World."
Suddenly he looked up at her. The lashes did not veil quick enough. He caught the veil wide open. He had thought he knew before. Now, he knew that he had but touched the outer margin of her love, of the wealth of her nature, of the reach and grasp of her spirit. She felt the grip of the strong hands closed over hers.
"Mine alder-liefest," he whispered in the old clean unused phrase.
"Is it a bargain?"
"Bargain?" repeated Wayland.
Then, they both laughed. She had him at such an obvious disadvantage. I do not intend to tell how far the afternoon shadows had stretched out when Eleanor exclaimed with a jump; "Dick: the buckboard is out of sight." I do not think either of them as lovers of horses ever offered adequate reason for having ridden their bronchos such a hard pace up grade the last ten miles that the ponies came down the Ridge to the Valley road a lather of sweat.
"You are sure," he had asked as they came out of the evergreens, "that you'll never regret?"
"Mr. Matthews intended to leave to-morrow, Dick. Do you think you could persuade him to stay over a day?"
It was Mrs. Williams who sensed something unusual as the ponies came down one of the by-paths from the Ridge.