A slight change of position brought into view the field at the foot of the knoll upon whose top they were. Friedrich sat upright in his chair, while a flush tinged his worn cheeks.
"What makes Miss Sydney down there?" he cried.
"Sydney? Oh, she is breaking some of the colts; teaching them to jump, I think she said, to-day."
Mrs. Carroll adjusted her eye-glasses. Two negro grooms were setting up a low hurdle with wings, while two small black boys dangled joyously from the halters of a couple of young horses, and a third bore Sydney's saddle upon his head.
"Is it Bob Mor-rgan with Miss Sydney?" asked Friedrich, wistfully, as the girl walked across the field beside a man who was leading a tall gray, already saddled.
"Yes, that's Bob. A huge fellow, isn't he?"
"And fear you not that Miss Sydney should ride those so wild colts?"
"Not now. I used to be frightened to death, but I've seen her and Bob down there doing that for so many years that I've learned not to be afraid. She rides really very well, you know, and Bob is careful of her."
"He would be."
Von Rittenheim sighed, and leaned back with closed eyes. He wished with all his soul that it were he down in the field fitting the saddle—that dear side-saddle—to that dancing creature; that it were he who was responsible for the safety of Sydney.