but he was always completely baffled in his aspirations after a nearer communion.  She was always attended from the church and assisted into her saddle by Judge Provost, Colonel Thornton, or some other “potent, grave and reverend seignors,” who “hedged her about with a divinity” that it was impossible, without rudeness and intrusion, to break through.  The more he was baffled and perplexed, the more eager became his desire to cultivate her acquaintance.  Had his course been clear to woo her for his wife, it would have been easy to ask permission of Edith to visit her at her house; but such was not the case, and Thurston, tampering with his own integrity of purpose, rather wished that this much coveted acquaintance should be incidental, and their interviews seem accidental, so that he should not commit himself, or in any way lead her to form expectations which he had no surety of being able to meet.  How long this cool and cautious foresight might avail him, if once he were brought in close companionship with Marian, remains to be seen.  It happened one Sunday afternoon in October that he saw Marian take leave of her venerable escort, Colonel Thornton, at the churchyard gate, and gayly and alone turn into the forest road that led to her own home.  He immediately threw himself into his saddle and followed her, with the assumed air of an indifferent gentleman pursuing his own path.  He overtook her near one of those gates that frequently intersect the road.  Bowing, he passed her, opened the gate, and held it open for her passage.  Marian smiled, and nodded with a pleasant: 

“Good-afternoon, Mr. Willcoxen,” as she went through,

Thurston closed the gate and rode on after her.

“This is glorious weather, Miss Mayfield.”

“Glorious, indeed!” replied Marian.

“And the country, too, is perfectly beautiful at this season.  I never could sympathize with the poets who call autumnal days ’the melancholy days—­the saddest of the year.’”

“Nor I,” said Marian; “for to me, autumn, with its refulgent skies, and gorgeous woods, and rich harvest, and its prospect of Christmas cheer and wintry repose has ever seemed a gay and festive season.  The year’s great work is done, the harvest is gathered, enjoyment is present, and repose at hand.”

“In the world of society,” said Thurston, “it is in the evening, after the labor or the business of the day is over, that the gayest scenes of festivity occur, just preceding the repose of sleep.  So I receive your thought of the autumn—­the evening of the year, preceding the rest of winter.  Nature’s year’s work is done; she puts on her most gorgeous robes, and holds a festival before she sinks to her winter’s sleep.”

Marian smiled brightly upon him.

“Yes; my meaning, I believe, only more pointedly expressed.”

That smile—­that smile!  It lightened through all his nature with electric, life-giving, spirit-realizing power, elevating and inspiring his whole being.  His face, too, was radiant with life as he answered the maiden’s smile.