"But I was about to say if you will mount to a seat beside the coachman, you will be heartily welcome to what used to be my own 'most favoryte' perch in my younger days. And we can set you down at the foot of the path leading up to old Scythia's hut," concluded Mr. Fabian.
"Oh, do, Rule! Please do!" pleaded Cora.
Regulas, with his sturdy independence of spirit, would most likely have declined this favor had not the girl's beseeching face and voice persuaded him to accept it.
"I thank you very much, sir," he said, and promptly climbed to the seat.
Three miles down the road the carriage was pulled up at the foot of the highest point of the mountain range, and Rule came down from his perch beside the coachman, stepped up to the carriage window, took off his hat, thanked the occupants for his ride, and then drew a neat, white inch-square parcel from his vest pocket, and holding it modestly, said:
"I hope you will accept this, Miss Cora."
The girl took it with a smile, but before she could open her lips to express her thanks, the youth had bowed, turned from the carriage, and was speeding his way up the rough mountain path, springing from crag to crag up to the ledge on which old Scythia's hut stood.
Cora opened the parcel and found an inch-square little casket of red morocco. She opened this with a spring, and found a small gold heart reposing in a bed of white satin.
"How pretty it is!" she said softly to herself, as she took the trinket from its case. "Look, grandma, what Rule has brought me for a Christmas gift! A little gold heart! A pure gold heart! His is a pure gold heart, is it not?" she added, earnestly, as she placed the trinket in the lady's hand.
Mrs. Rockharrt looked at it with interest, and then passed it on to her eldest son.