Nightingales warble about it   All night under blossom and star;
The wild swan is dying without it,
  And the eagle crieth afar;
The sun, he doth mount but to find it
  Searching the green earth o'er;
But more doth a man's heart mind it—
  O more, more, more!
—G.E. Woodberry.
 
Shirley Claiborne was dressed for a ride, and while waiting for her horse she re-read her brother's letter; and the , which follows, she read twice:
 
"I shall never live down my acquaintance with the Armitage. My brother officers insist on rubbing it in. I even hear, ma chérie, that you have gone into retreat by reason of the exposure. I'll admit, for your , that he really took me in; and, further, I really wonder who the devil he is,—or was! Our last interview at the Club, after Chauvenet told his story, lingers with me disagreeably. I was naturally pretty hot to find him playing the darkly mysterious, which never did go with me,—after eating my bird and drinking my bottle. As a precaution I have looked up Chauvenet to the best of my ability. At the Austro-Hungarian Embassy they speak well of him. He's over here to collect the price of a few cruisers or some such rubbish from one of our sister republics below the . But bad luck to all foreigners! Me for America every time!"
 
* * * * *
 
"Dear old Dick!" and she dropped the letter into a drawer and went out into the sunshine, mounted her horse and turned toward the hills.
 
She had spent the intermediate seasons of the year at Storm Springs ever since she could remember, and had climbed the surrounding hills and dipped into the valleys with a boy's and freedom. The Virginia mountains were linked in her mind to the dreams of her youth, to her earliest hopes and , and to the books she had read, and she happily out of the valley to the of an old . She rode as a woman should, astride her horse and not madly clinging to it in the ancient fashion. She had known horses from early years, in which she had tumbled from her pony's back in the stable-yard, and she knew how to train a horse to a gait and how to master a beast's fear; and even some of the tricks of the troopers in the Fort Myer drill she had surreptitiously practised in the meadow back of the Claiborne stable.
 
It was on Tuesday that John Armitage had appeared before her in the pergola. It was now Thursday afternoon, and Chauvenet had been to see her twice since, and she had met him the night before at a dance at one of the cottages.
 
Judge Claiborne was for his acute and mind; but he had, too, a strong feeling for art in all its expressions, and it was his gift of imagination,—the ability to forecast the enemy's strategy and then strike his weakest point,—that had made him a great lawyer and . Shirley had played chess with her father until she had learned to see around corners as he did, and she liked a problem, a test of wit, a contest of powers. She knew how to wait and ponder in silence, and therein lay the joy of the saddle, when she could ride alone with no to bother her, and watch unfold on the hilltops.
 
Once free of the settlement she rode far and fast, until she was quite beyond the usual routes of the Springs excursionists; then in mountain byways she enjoyed the luxury of leisure and dismounted now and then to delight in the green of the laurel and question the rhododendrons.
 
Jules Chauvenet had the hills all day and explored many mountain paths and inquired cautiously of the natives. The telegraph operator at the Storm Springs inn was a woman, and the and receipt by Jules Chauvenet of long messages, many of them in , her curiosity. No member of the Washington diplomatic circle who came to the Springs,—not even the shrewd and secretive Russian Ambassador,—received longer or more cables. With the social diversions of the Springs and the necessity for making a show of having some business in America, Jules Chauvenet was pretty well occupied; and now the presence of John Armitage in Virginia added to his burdens.
 
He was tired and , and it was with unaffected pleasure that he rode out of an obscure hill-path into a bit of open wood overhanging a curious and came upon Shirley Claiborne.
 
The soil was soft and his horse carried him quite near before she heard him. A broad sheet of water flashed down the farther side of the narrow pass, sending up a pretty of spray wherever it struck the rock. As Shirley turned toward him he urged his horse over the springy turf.
 
"A pity to disturb the picture, Miss Claiborne! A thousand pardons! But I really wished to see whether the figure could come out of the canvas. Now that I have dared to make the test, pray do not send me away."
 
Her horse turned restlessly and brought her face to face with Chauvenet.
 
"Steady, Fanny! Don't come near her, please—" this last to Chauvenet, who had leaped down and put out his hand to her horse's . She had the true horsewoman's pride in caring for herself and her eyes flashed angrily for a moment at Chauvenet's aid. A man might open a door for her or pick up her handkerchief, but to touch her horse was an altogether different business. The pretty, was calm in a moment and arched her neck under the stroke of Shirley's hand.
 
"Beautiful! The picture is even more perfect, Mademoiselle!"
 
"Fanny is best in action, and splendid when she runs away. She hasn't run away to-day, but I think she is likely to before I get home."
 
She was thinking of the long ride which she had no intention of taking in
Chauvenet's company. He stood uncovered beside her, holding his horse.
"But the danger, Mademoiselle! You should not hazard your life with a horse on these roads. It is not fair to your friends."
 
"You are a conservative, Monsieur. I should be ashamed to have a runaway in a city park, but what does one come to the country for?"
 
"What, indeed, but for excitement? You are not of those tame young women across the sea who come out into the world from a convent, frightened at all they see and whisper 'Yes, Sister,' 'No, Sister,' to everything they hear."
 
"Yes; we Americans are in shyness and . I have often heard it remarked, Monsieur Chauvenet."
 
"No! No! You misunderstand! Those deficiencies, as you term them, are ; they are what give the charm to the American woman. I hope you would not believe me capable of speaking in , Mademoiselle,—you must know—"
 
The water tumbled down the rock into the vale; the soft air was sweet with the of pines. An eagle cruised high against the blue overhead. Shirley's hand on the , and Fanny lifted her head expectantly.
 
Chauvenet went on rapidly in French:
 
"You must know why I am here—why I have crossed the sea to seek you in your own home. I have loved you, Mademoiselle, from the moment I first saw you in Florence. Here, with only the mountains, the sky, the wood, I must speak. You must hear—you must believe, that I love you! I offer you my life, my poor attainments—"
 
"Monsieur, you do me a great honor, but I can not listen. What you ask is impossible, quite impossible. But, Monsieur—"
 
Her eyes had fallen upon a behind him where something had stirred. She thought at first that it was an animal of some sort; but she saw now quite distinctly a man's shabby felt hat that rose slowly until the bearded face of its wearer was disclosed.
 
"Monsieur!" cried Shirley in a low tone; "look behind you and be careful what you say or do. Leave the man to me."
 
Chauvenet turned and faced a mountaineer who held a rifle and drew it to his shoulder as Chauvenet threw out his arms, dropped them to his and laughed carelessly.
 
"What is it, my dear fellow—my wat............