And, to do him justice, he could drive. He won the instant respect of
Mr. Cooke's coachman by his manner of taking up the lines, and clinched
it when he dropped a careless remark concerning the off wheeler. And
after the critical inspection of the horses which is proper he climbed up
on the box. There was much hesitation among the ladies as to who should
take the seat of honor: Mrs. Cooke declining, it was pressed upon Miss
Thorn. But she, somewhat to my surprise, declined also, and it was
finally filled by a young woman from Asquith.

As we drove off I found myself alone with Mrs. Cooke's niece on the seat
behind.

The day was cool and snappy for August, and the Rise all green with a
lavish nature. Now we, plunged into a deep shade with the boughs lacing
each other overhead, and crossed dainty, rustic bridges over the cold
trout-streams, the boards giving back the clatter of our horses' feet: or
anon we shot into a clearing, with a colored glimpse of the lake and its
curving shore far below us. I had always loved that piece of country
since the first look I had of it from the Asquith road, and the sight of
it rarely failed to set my blood a-tingle with pleasure. But to-day I
scarcely saw it. I wondered what whim had impelled Miss Thorn to get
into this seat. She paid but little attention to me during the first
part of the drive, though a mere look in my direction seemed to afford
her amusement. And at last, half way up the Rise, where the road takes
to an embankment, I got a decided jar.

"Mr. Allen," she cried to the Celebrity, "you must stop here. Do you
remember how long we tarried over this bit on Friday?"