did," he added. "I couldn't have gone far looking for shelter."
"Poor old nag!" said Amy. Then, perceiving that she had not been altogether polite: "Aren't you nearly frozen?" she asked.
"No, it's very snug in here. Some other tramp must have been here before me, and got these leaves together. There's lots of warmth in them."
By this time Stephen had crawled out from among the oak-leaves and, having got himself into the doctor's fur-lined coat, stood on one foot, leaning heavily against the door-frame.
"A splendid night, isn't it?" he remarked in a conversational tone.
Amy, who was just leading Sunbeam up to the doorway, glanced at the young man, standing there in the bright moonlight,—at his sensitive, intelligent face, his finely-modelled head and brow,—and somehow she felt reinstated with herself. She had been fatally wrong in making choice so lightly, but at least the choice was, in itself, nothing to be ashamed of! As she helped Stephen in his painful transit to the saddle, she wondered if she were really a heartless person to take comfort in such a thought. But, in truth, since she had come to question the genuineness of her own part in
