We now rode through a vast flat land of willows, headed due north once more, and I saw a little river which twisted a hundred times upon itself like a stricken snake, winding its shimmering coils out and in through woodland, willow-flat, and reedy marsh.

“The Kennyetto,” said Dorothy, “flowing out of the great Vlaie to empty its waters close to its source after a circle of half a hundred miles.  Yonder lies the Vlaie—­it is that immense flat country of lake and marsh and forest which is wedged in just south of the mountain-gap where the last of the Adirondacks split into the Mayfield hills and the long, low spurs rolling away to the southeast.  Sir William Johnson had a lodge there at Summer-house Point.  Since his death Sir George Covert has leased it from Sir John.  That is our trysting-place.”

To hear Sir George’s name now vaguely disturbed me, yet I could not think why, for I admired and liked him.  But at the bare mention of his name a dull uneasiness came over me and I turned impatiently to my cousin as though the irritation had come from her and she must explain it.

“What is it?” she inquired, faintly smiling.

“I asked no question,” I muttered.

“I thought you meant to speak, cousin.”

I had meant to say something.  I did not know what.

“You seem to know when I am about to speak,” I said; “that is twice you have responded to my unasked questions.”

“I know it,” she said, surprised and a trifle perplexed.  “I seem to hear you when you are mute, and I turn to find you looking at me, as though you had asked me something.”

We rode on, thoughtful, silent, aware of a new and wordless intimacy.

“It is pleasant to be with you,” she said at last.  “I have never before found untroubled contentment save when I am alone....  Everything that you see and think of on this ride I seem to see and think of, too, and know that you are observing with the same delight that I feel....  Nor does anything in the world disturb my happiness.  Nor do you vex me with silence when I would have you speak; nor with speech when I ride dreaming—­as I do, cousin, for hours and hours—­not sadly, but in the sweetest peace—­”

Her voice died out like a June breeze; our horses, ear to ear moved on slowly in the fragrant silence.

“To ride ... forever ... together,” she mused, “looking with perfect content on all the world....  I teaching you, or you me; ... it’s all one for the delight it gives to be alive and young....  And no trouble to await us, ... nothing malicious to do a harm to any living thing....  I could renounce Heaven for that....  Could you?”

“Yes....  For less.”

“I know I ask too much; grief makes us purer, fitting us for the company of blessed souls.  They say that even war may be a holy thing—­though we are commanded otherwise....  Cousin, at moments a demon rises in me and I desire some forbidden thing so ardently, so passionately, that it seems as if I could fight a path through paradise itself to gain what I desire....  Do you feel so?”