"I did not ask that you should," was the tart answer, a wilful toss of her head accompanying the sharp words.
"Why, Dorothy, whatever ails you?" And he looked more surprised than hurt at this new phase of his quondam playfellow's disposition.
She did not reply; and Hugh, seeing a glitter of tears in her eyes, said nothing more.
And so they plodded along in utter silence; the two ahead of them seeming to find no need for haste, and conversing earnestly, as though greatly entertained by each other's company.
The thickly planted cornfields rose on either side of their way, and the afternoon sun flickered the landscape with fleeting shadows from the clouds sailing in the blue overhead, while now and again there came a glimpse of the sea.
Everything about them was quiet, save the breathing of the horses and the noise of their trappings.
At length, coming within sight of the Knollys homestead, the two in front drew rein and waited for their companions to join them.
Dorothy gave the impatient mare her head, and rode up briskly, with Hugh not far behind; and then all four went clattering through the gate and up the grass-grown roadway, halting before the porch of the low frame house that stood surrounded by thickly planted fields running back to meet sloping wooded hills, with grassy meadows intervening, where flocks of sheep and many cows were grazing peacefully.
A sweet-faced old lady—Hugh's mother—came out of the door and greeted them cordially, but first casting a searching glance at her son. Then bidding a servant take their horses to the stable, she invited them to come within.
But Hugh said: "No, mother; Sam need not take the horses away. We can stop but a short time, and then I must go back to remain in town for the night. I only rode over—and these kind folk with me—to see how you were faring without having me to look after matters, and to assure you of my well being; for I know how you like to fret if I stop away long enough to give you the chance."