the trap swiftly along, past Portsmouth, across the middle road, and from the bold west side of the island, over to the East Road, with its wonderful panorama of river and islet, seen from the high-road. Down Quaker Hill they sped, through Newtown, and finally their hoofs struck the timber of the Stone Bridge.
Gladys gave a little cry as she looked down and saw the water beneath and behind them. They had left the dreamy island, "lying like an opal in a sea of sapphire." Newport was behind them, and the wide world before. At Tiverton they stopped, and the horses were refreshed by a bucket of cool water. To Gladys was no need of water or of bread; Farwell never even thought about his cigar.
Gladys still protested that she would not, but she did not ask her lover to turn the sorrels' heads towards Newport, and off they started, the brave beasts, as fresh as if twelve miles had not lain between them and their stable. Gladys sang a little song, for the joy
