Roger was too distant to see just how she greeted her unlooked-for friend of other days, but thought she appeared so startled that she leaned against a tree for support.  He saw, however, that the “ghost of a man” was now flesh and blood in his earnestness, and that he retained her hand in both of his own while speaking rapidly.  Before very long, however, the horse became so impatient that he suddenly jerked his bridle loose, wheeled, and came galloping up the road toward Roger, who, after a moment’s hesitation, cleared the low stone wall at a bound and stood in the road awaiting him.  Mildred’s companion made a gesture of annoyance, and then said, with a shrug, “Let the beast go.  I’m well content to remain here.”  When they saw Roger’s purpose, however, they stood watching for the outcome of his effort.

As Arnold—­for he it was—­saw the horse, with broken and flying reins, thundering apparently right upon the motionless form of a man, he exclaimed, “By Jove! but that’s a brave fellow.”

The vicious brute soon seemed so nearly upon the rash youth that Mildred gave a slight scream of terror, but a second later she saw him spring lightly aside, catch one of the flying reins, hold on for a few yards, half dragged, half running, and then the animal yielded to a master.  A cloud of dust obscured them momentarily; then the country-bred athlete vaulted lightly into the saddle and came trotting sharply toward them, riding like a centaur.  She was enraged at herself that her face should grow scarlet under his brief glance from one to the other, but without a word he sprang lightly down and began to fasten the horse securely to a tree—­an act scarcely necessary, for the animal appeared completely subdued.

“By Jove! my man, that was neatly done,” said Arnold.  “Here’s a bank-note for your trouble.”

“The fact that I’ve caught your horse does not prove me a hostler,” Roger replied brusquely, without looking at the speaker.

Arnold now recognized the young man whom he had seen with Mr. Jocelyn, and also at the hotel several times subsequently.  He had learned his name, and therefore began, “Oh, I beg pardon; this is Mr. Atwood;” but before he could say more a covered barouche came rapidly down the hill from the opposite direction, turned with the angle of the road, and passed into the shade of the hemlocks.  Arnold had become very pale the moment he saw it, and in its occupant Roger recognized the woman whom he had seen at the hotel, and whom he had learned to be the mother of the listless dancer.  A brief glance showed him that Mildred knew her also.  The lady sharply ordered her coachman to stop, and after a brief but freezing look into Mildred’s hot face she said, in a meaning tone, “Vinton, I will esteem it a favor if you will accompany me on my drive.”

“I will join you presently,” he said irresolutely.

“I will wait politely then until you have concluded your interview,” the gentlewoman remarked coldly, leaning back in her carriage.