Nell of Shorne Mills

They had climbed the hill, and were riding along a road on the edge of

one of the small moors, and after a moment or two of inspection of the

graceful figure beside him, he motioned with his hand, and they turned

on to the moor itself.

As they cantered and galloped over the springy turf and heather, Drake

grew thoughtful and absent-minded.

The beauty of the scene, the azure sky, the clear, thin air, all soothed

him; but he found himself asking himself why he was still lingering in

this out-of-the-way spot in North Devon, and why he was content with the

simple amusement of teaching a young girl to sit her horse and hold her

reins properly.

Why was he not on board the _Seagull_, which Lord Turfleigh had left in

Southampton waters, or in Scotland shooting grouse, with one of the

innumerable house parties to which he had been invited, and at which he

would have been a welcome guest, or climbing the Alps with fellow

members of the Alpine Club?

So they were silent as they rode over this green-and-violet moor, over

which the curlew flew wailingly, as if complaining of this breach of

their solitude.

And Nell was thinking, or, rather, musing; for though she was taking

lessons, she was too good a rider to be absorbed in the management of

her horse.

Had she not scampered over these same moors on a half-wild Exmoor pony,

bare-backed, and with a halter for a bridle?

She was thinking of the weeks that had passed since the man who was

riding beside her had been flung at her feet, and wondering, half

unconsciously, at the happiness of those weeks. There had scarcely been

a day in which he and she had not walked or sailed, or sat on the quay

together. She recalled their first sail in the _Annie Laurie_; there had

been many since then; and he had been so kind, so genial a companion,

that she had begun to feel as if he were an old friend, a kind of second

Dick.

At times, it was true, he was silent and gloomy, not to say morose; but,

as a rule, he was kind, with a gentle, protective sort of kindness

which, believe me, is duly appreciated by even such a simple,

unsophisticated girl as Nell.

As she rode beside him, she glanced now and again at the handsome face,

which was grave and lined with thought, and she wondered, girllike, upon

what he was musing.

Suddenly he turned to her.

"Yes, you don't need much teaching," he said, with a smile. "You ride

awfully well, as it is. With a little practice--you won't forget about

holding the reins a little farther; from you?--you will ride like Lady

Lucille herself."