"Who told you that anything has happened?" said Margaret.
"What is Herbert doing on his knees?"
"I was praying, sir," said Herbert.
"Margaret," repeated Paul, "in Heaven's name, what is the matter?"
"What's the matter with you, Paul? It seems to me that I should ask the question."
De Grey fixed a dark, searching look on the young girl, and then closed his eyes, and grasped at the back of a chair, as if his head were turning. "Ten minutes ago," he said, speaking slowly, "I was riding along by the river-side; suddenly I heard in the air the sound of a distant cry, which I knew to be yours. I turned and galloped. I made three miles in eight minutes."
"A cry, dear Paul? what should I cry about? and to be heard three miles! A pretty compliment to my lungs."
"Well," said the young man, "I suppose, then, it was my fancy. But my horse heard it too; he lifted his ears, and plunged and started."
"It must have been his fancy tool It proves you an excellent rider,—you and your horse feeling as one man!"
"Ah, Margaret, don't trifle!"
"As one horse, then!"
"Well, whatever it may have been, I'm not ashamed to confess that I'm thoroughly shaken. I don't know what has become of my nerves."
"For pity's sake, then, don't stand there shivering and staggering like a man in an ague-fit. Come, sit down on the sofa." She took hold of his arm, and led him to the couch. He, in turn, clasped her arm in his own hand, and drew her down beside him. Father Herbert silently made his exit, unheeded. Outside of the door he met Mrs. De Grey, with her smelling-salts.
"I don't think she needs them now," he said. "She has Paul." And the two adjourned together to the tea-table. When the meal was half finished, Margaret came in with Paul.
"How do you feel, dear?" said Mrs. De Grey.
