It has been already intimated that it was his "day off." Unable to summarily reassume his usual functions beside the driver without some practical reason, and ashamed to go so palpably as a mere passenger, he was forced to let the coach proceed without him.

Discomfited for the moment, he was not, however, beaten.

He had lost the blissful journey by her side, which would have been his professional right, but--she was going to Indian Spring! could he not anticipate her there?
Might they not meet in the most accidental manner?
And what might not come from that meeting away from the prying eyes of their own town?
Mr.Brace did not hesitate, but saddling his fleet Buckskin, by the time the stagecoach had passed the Crossing in the high-road he had mounted the hill and was dashing along the "cut-off" in the same direction, a full mile in advance.

Arriving at Indian Spring, he left his horse at a Mexican _posada_ on the confines of the settlement, and from the piled _debris_ of a tunnel excavation awaited the slow arrival of the coach.
On mature reflection he could give no reason why he had not boldly awaited it at the express office, except a certain bashful consciousness of his own folly, and a belief that it might be glaringly apparent to the bystanders.

When the coach arrived and he had overcome this consciousness, it was too late.