At Love's Cost

Ida went to the stable-yard and got on to Rupert by the aid of the

stone "mounting block" from which Charles the Second had climbed,

laughingly, to the white horse which figures in so many pictures of the

Merry Monarch, and rode out of the court-yard, watched with pride by

Jason. Before she had gone far he ran after her.

"If you're riding by West Hill, Miss Ida, perhaps you'd look at the

cattle-shed there. Williams says that the roof's falling in."

"Very well," she called back in her clear voice.

"Oh, and, Miss Ida, there's a big stone washed out of the weir; I'm

thinking it ought to be put back or we'll have the meadows above

flooded this winter."

She laughed and nodded and put Rupert to a trot, for she knew that

while she was within hearing Jason would bombard her with similar tales

of woe. Not a slate slid from the old roof of the Hall, or a sheep fell

lame, but the matter was referred to her.

She rode down the road in the sunlight, the big chestnut moving under

her as if he were on springs and she were a feather, and, half

unconsciously, she began to hum an air--not one of those modern ones

one hears in many drawing-rooms, but an old-fashioned melody which she

had found in an ancient music-book in the antique cabinet beside the

grand piano. She left the road where it touched the wild moorland of

the valley, and Rupert broke into a canter, Donald and Bess, settling

into the stride with which they managed to keep up with the big horse.

She had resolved that she would not ride straight to the stream, and

she kept up the hill-side, but her eyes wandered to the road

expectantly now and again; but there was no sign of a horseman, and

after half an hour had passed a sense of disappointment rose within

her. It was quite possible that he had forgotten the engagement;

perhaps on reflection he had seen that she was quite right in her

objections to his strange proposal, and he would not come. A faint

flush rose to her face, and she turned Rupert and rode up and over the

hill where she could not see the road. But she had no sooner got on top

than she remembered that no time had been mentioned, or, if it had,

that she had forgotten it. She turned and rode up the hill again, and

looking down, saw Stafford riding along the valley in desperate haste,

and yet looking about him uncertainly. Her heart beat with a quickened

pulse, sending the delicate colour into her face, and she pulled up,

and, leaning forward with her chin in her hand, watched him dreamily.