"No, no, no!" clasping her hands.
"Yet you are not easily frightened. A young lady that can venture on a moonlight ramble when less adventurous people are going to bed must have strong nerves."
"Did you recognize me, then?" she interrupted, not in the least disturbed by his question, but offering no explanation of her appearance at such an hour. "Yes, I am not cowardly in some things. However, I must say good morning."
"And you will not permit me come any farther?"
"No!"—He felt her "no" was very earnest.—"Nay, more, I will stay here until I see you safe at the other side of that fence again."
There was a quaint, unembarrassed decision in her tone that somewhat lessened the pleasure with which he heard her.
"I assure you, it is not worth your while to watch so insignificant a feat of horsemanship; that fence is a nothing."
"It does not seem so to me. It is possible an accident might happen, and then you would have no help. It would not be right to go on, and leave you to chance."
"If you will, then, I shall not keep you long. But, Miss Rivers, shall you not want to visit Monkscleugh soon again? Have you abjured the picturesque braes of Glenraven? Is there no chance of another artistic talk with you?"
"No! Scarcely any possibility of such a thing. Good-by! I am much obliged for the sketch you granted me. My good wishes!"—a slight, proudly-gracious bend of the head—"but go!" She stood with her parcel tightly held, not the slightest symptom of a shake of the hand; and, bold man of the world as he was, Wilton felt he must not presume to hold out his; he therefore sprung into the saddle, and was soon over the fence and on the road. He raised his hat, and received a wave of the hand in return.