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"Maiden passing fair, turn away thine eyes! Turn away thine eyes ere my bosom burn,

My whole nature was upheaved. You may smile, but my plight was awful. In the sultry night I grew cold. My bridle-hand, still lying under her palm, turned and folded its big stupid fingers over hers. Then our hands slid apart and we rode back. "I wish I were good enough to know the stars," she said, gazing up. "Tell me some of them."

"Oh!--don't you wish you knew! Why, to myself, for instance. Come! duty calls."

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