Peggy did not turn, but she listened. This masterful note in his voice was a new thing. She could scarcely have told whether she liked it or resented it—perhaps a little of both. Certainly she was not inclined to accept it meekly or without protest. As Huntoon finished speaking, Peggy had just bent forward a pine bough that she might pass without stepping in the mud. A wicked impulse seized the girl, and releasing the branch suddenly she stepped aside, and the bough struck Huntoon sharply in the face, his cheek reddening under the blow of its stiff needles.

In an instant Peggy was sorry for her naughty trick, and turned with an apology on her lips; but without a word Huntoon seized her in his arms, and kissed her passionately.

A red spot of anger showed itself in Peggy Neville's cheek. She stopped and stamped her foot.

"How dare you?" she exclaimed.

Romney made no answer—only stood looking at her. At last he said, "I forgive you."

This was too much.

What Peggy might have said in answer can never be set down, for at this moment the donkey, whose rein had slipped off Huntoon's arm, finding himself free of restraint, kicked up his heels and set off at full gallop along the path. Huntoon started after him at his fastest pace, whilst Peggy could not to save her life refrain from bursting into a fit of laughter at this undignified ending of a lovers' quarrel.

As the donkey, and Huntoon following after, rushed past Brent, the Governor's horse shied so violently into the bushes that the rider had hard work to keep his seat. In his vexation Brent called out,—

"I would there were as many donkeys in the province with four feet as with two. Chase him, Huntoon! Not that way!—to the left—to the left!"

Huntoon had lost sight of the donkey; but now catching the last words, he turned to the left, following the trail of the animal's feet in the new-fallen snow. Brent paused a moment and then started after him, for it was no light matter to be lost in the woods, and the path the young man had taken was an unfinished one ending in a tangle, though a side path connected it with the main road to St. Mary's.