"Come—come on, then."
"Slowly, slowly," said Capitola; "I won't tire my horse."
They rode over the hill, down the gradual descent and on toward the center of the valley.
They were now within a quarter of a mile of the river, on the opposite side of which was Hurricane Hall and—safety! The stranger drew rein, saying:
"Come, my cuckoo; here we are at the bottom of the valley; now or never."
"Oh, now, of course; you see, I keep my promise," answered Capitola, pulling up her horse.
The man sprang from his saddle and came to her side.
"Please be careful, now; don't let my riding-skirt get hung in the stirrup," said Capitola, cautiously disengaging her drapery, rising in the saddle and giving the stranger her hand. In the act of jumping she suddenly stopped and looked down, exclaiming:
"Good gracious! how very damp the ground is here, in the bottom of the valley!"
"More objections, I suppose, my pretty one; but they won't serve you any longer. I am bent upon having a cozy chat with you upon that very turf," said the stranger, pointing to a little cleared space among the trees beside the path.