After three more weeks of riding and conversing with Capitola he
had, in his own estimation, advanced so far in her good opinion as
to make it perfectly safe to risk a declaration. And this he
determined to do upon the very first opportunity.
Chance favored him.
One afternoon Capitola, riding through the pleasant woods skirting
the back of the mountain range that sheltered Hurricane Hall, got a
fall, for which she was afterwards inclined to cuff Wool.
It happened in this way: She had come to a steep rise in the road
and urged her pony into a hard gallop, intending as she said to
herself, to "storm the height," when suddenly, under the violent
strain, the girth, ill-fastened, flew apart and Miss Cap was on the
ground, buried under the fallen saddle.
With many a blessing upon the carelessness of grooms, Cap picked
herself up, put the saddle on the horse, and was engaged in drawing
under the girth when Craven Le Noir rode up, sprang from his horse
and, with anxiety depicted on his countenance, ran to the spot
inquiring:
"What is the matter? No serious accident, I hope and trust, Miss
Black?"
"No; those wretches in uncle's stables did not half buckle the
girth, and, as I was going in a hard gallop up the steep, it flew
apart and gave me a tumble; that's all," said Cap, desisting a
moment from her occupation to take breath.
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