"Aren't you tired?"
"Not a bit. Don't you think we can do it, Hu?"
He laughed at her spirit.
"All right. Don't blame me, though, if you are dead, to-morrow."
She tossed her head proudly.
"I don't die so easily; but, if you 're tired, we'll take the cars."
They had planned to start for home at six; but callers delayed the supper, and, when they finally mounted, the moon was standing out in the eastern sky, like a thick, white vapor. There was a chorus of good-byes, a clashing of two bells, and the twins started off upon their homeward ride.
For the first hour, it seemed to Theodora that she had never ridden more easily. The fatigue of the morning had worn away, leaving only the exhilaration; and, like most riders, she came to her best strength late in the day. Slowly the twilight fell about them, and, as the golden light of the sunset died away in the west, the silver lustre of the full moon brightened the eastern sky. Theodora's gown was damp with the falling dew, as they rolled quietly on between fields pale with sleepy daisies and nodding buttercups. One by one, the cows in the pastures stopped grazing and lay down to rest; while, above their heads, the birds drowsily exchanged sweet good-nights. Then the last glow faded from the west, and the world fell asleep.
"I don't half like those clouds, Ted," Hubert said suddenly. "If they come up much faster, they'll play the mischief with us before we get home."
"Oh, they won't do any harm," Theodora said easily. "It will be light enough to ride to-night, even if it is cloudy."