aimlessly, as it seemed to him, appeared two horsemen apparently performing some mystic evolution.  To add to their singular performance, from time to time one of the flying herd, driven by the horsemen far beyond the circle of its companions, dropped suddenly and unaccountably in full career.  The field closed over it as if it had been swallowed up.  In a few moments it appeared again, trotting peacefully behind its former pursuer.  It was some time before Clarence grasped the meaning of this strange spectacle.  Although the clear, dry atmosphere sharply accented the silhouette-like outlines of the men and horses, so great was the distance that the slender forty-foot lasso, which in the skillful hands of the horsemen had effected these captures, was completely invisible!  The horsemen were Peyton’s vacqueros, making a selection from the young horses for the market.  He remembered now that Peyton had told him that he might be obliged to raise money by sacrificing some of his stock, and the thought brought back Clarence’s uneasiness as he turned again to the trail.  Indeed, he was hardly in the vein for a gentle tryst, as he entered the wooded ravine to seek the madrono tree which was to serve as a guide to his lady’s bower.

A few rods further, under the cool vault filled with woodland spicing, he came upon it.  In its summer harlequin dress of scarlet and green, with hanging bells of poly-tinted berries, like some personified sylvan Folly, it seemed a fitting symbol of Susy’s childish masquerade of passion.  Its bizarre beauty, so opposed to the sober gravity of the sedate pines and hemlocks, made it an unmistakable landmark.  Here he dismounted and picketed his horse.  And here, beside it, to the right, ran the little trail crawling over mossy boulders; a narrow yellow track through the carpet of pine needles between the closest file of trees; an almost imperceptible streak across pools of chickweed at their roots, and a brown and ragged swath through the ferns.  As he went on, the anxiety and uneasiness that had possessed him gave way to a languid intoxication of the senses; the mysterious seclusion of these woodland depths recovered the old influence they had exerted over his boyhood.  He was not returning to Susy, as much as to the older love of his youth, of which she was, perhaps, only an incident.  It was therefore with an odd boyish thrill again that, coming suddenly upon a little hollow, like a deserted nest, where the lost trail made him hesitate, he heard the crackle of a starched skirt behind him, was conscious of the subtle odor of freshly ironed and scented muslin, and felt the gentle pressure of delicate fingers upon his eyes.

“Susy!”

“You silly boy!  Where were you blundering to?  Why didn’t you look around you?”

“I thought I would hear your voices.”

“Whose voices, idiot?”

“Yours and Mary’s,” returned Clarence innocently, looking round for the confidante.