Thismanunderstoodthingsliterally:onemustlivewithoutpleasuretodiewithoutfear；tosavethesoul，itwasnecessarytostarvethesoul。
　　ThesunhunglowabovethecornfieldswhenMargaretandhercavalierleftSt。Anne。SouthofthetownthereisastretchofroadthatrunsforsomethreemilesthroughtheFrenchsettlement，wheretheprairieisaslevelasthesurfaceofalake。Therethefieldsofflaxandwheatandryeareborderedbypreciserowsofslender，taperingLombardpoplars。ItwasayellowworldthatMargaretElliotsawunderthewidelightofthesettingsun。
　　ThegirlgatheredupherreinsandcalledbacktoEric，“Itwillbesafetorunthehorseshere，won’tit？“
　　“Yes，Ithinkso，now，“heanswered，touchinghisspurtohispony’sflank。Theywereofflikethewind。ItisanoldsayingintheWestthatnewcomersalwaysrideahorseortwotodeathbeforetheygetbrokenintothecountry。Theyaretemptedbythegreatopenspacesandtrytooutridethehorizon，togettotheendofsomething。Margaretgallopedoverthelevelroad，andEric，frombehind，sawherlongveilflutteringinthewind。Ithadflutteredjustsoinhisdreamslastnightandthenightbefore。Withasuddeninspirationofcourageheovertookherandrodebesideher，lookingintentlyatherhalf-avertedface。
　　Before，hehadonlystolenoccasionalglancesatit，seenitinblindingflashes，alwayswithmoreorlessembarrassment，butnowhedeterminedtoleteverylineofitsinkintohismemory。Menoftheworldwouldhavesaidthatitwasanunusualface，nervous，finelycut，withclear，elegantlinesthatbetokenedancestry。Menofletterswouldhavecalleditahistoricface，andwouldhaveconjecturedatwhatoldpassions，longasleep，whatoldsorrowsforgottentimeoutofmind，doingbattletogetherinagesgone，hadcurvedthosedelicatenostrils，lefttheirunconsciousmemoryinthoseeyes。ButEricreadnomeaninginthesedetails。Tohimthisbeautywassomethingmorethancolourandline；itwasaflashofwhitelight，inwhichonecannotdistinguishcolourbecauseallcoloursarethere。Tohimitwasacompleterevelation，anembodimentofthosedreamsofimpossiblelovelinessthatlingerbyayoungman’spillowonmidsummernights；yet，becauseitheldsomethingmorethantheattractionofhealthandyouthandshapeliness，ittroubledhim，andinitspresencehefeltastheGothsbeforethewhitemarblesintheRomanCapitol，notknowingwhethertheyweremenorgods。Attimeshefeltlikeuncoveringhisheadbeforeit，againthefuryseizedhimtobreakanddespoil，tofindtheclayinthisspirit-thingandstampuponit。Awayfromher，helongedtostrikeoutwithhisarms，andtakeandhold；itmaddenedhimthatthiswomanwhomhecouldbreakinhishandsshouldbesomuchstrongerthanhe。Butnearher，heneverquestionedthisstrength；headmitteditspotentialityasheadmittedthemiraclesoftheBible；itenervatedandconqueredhim。
　　Tonight，whenherodesoclosetoherthathecouldhavetouchedher，heknewthathemightaswellreachouthishandtotakeastar。
　　Margaretstirreduneasilyunderhisgazeandturnedquestioninglyinhersaddle。
　　“Thiswindputsmealittleoutofbreathwhenweridefast，“
　　shesaid。
　　Ericturnedhiseyesaway。
　　“IwanttoaskyouifIgotoNewYorktowork，ifImaybehearmusiclikeyousanglastnight？Ibeenapurtygoodhandtowork，“heasked，timidly。
　　Margaretlookedathimwithsurprise，andthen，asshestudiedtheoutlineofhisface，pityingly。
　　“Well，youmight——butyou’dloseagooddealelse。Ishouldn’tlikeyoutogotoNewYork——andbepoor，you’dbeoutofatmosphere，someway，“shesaid，slowly。Inwardlyshewasthinking:Therehewouldbealtogethersordid，impossible——amachinewhowouldcarryone’strunksupstairs，perhaps。Hereheiseveryinchaman，ratherpicturesque；whyisit？“No，“sheaddedaloud，“Ishouldn’tlikethat。“
　　“ThenInotgo，“saidEric，decidedly。
　　Margaretturnedherfacetohideasmile。Shewasatrifleamusedandatrifleannoyed。Suddenlyshespokeagain。
　　“ButI’lltellyouwhatIdowantyoutodo，Eric。IwantyoutodancewithustomorrownightandteachmesomeoftheNorwegiandances；theysayyouknowthemall。Won’tyou？“
　　EricstraightenedhimselfinhissaddleandhiseyesflashedastheyhaddoneintheLoneStarschoolhousewhenhebrokehisviolinacrosshisknee。
　　“Yes，Iwill，“hesaid，quietly，andhebelievedthathedeliveredhissoultohellashesaidit。
　　Theyhadreachedtheroughercountrynow，wheretheroadwoundthroughanarrowcutinoneofthebluffsalongthecreek，whenabeatofhoofsaheadandthesharpneighingofhorsesmadetheponiesstartandEricroseinhisstirrups。Thendownthegulchinfrontofthemandoverthesteepclaybanksthunderedaherdofwildponies，nimbleasmonkeysandwildasrabbits，suchashorse-
　　tradersdriveeastfromtheplainsofMontanatosellinthefarmingcountry。Margaret’sponymadeashrillsound，aneighthatwasalmostascream，andstarteduptheclaybanktomeetthem，allthewildbloodoftherangebreakingoutinaninstant。MargaretcalledtoEricjustashethrewhimselfoutofthesaddleandcaughtherpony’sbit。Butthewirylittleanimalhadgonemadandwaskickingandbitinglikeadevil。Herwildbrothersoftherangewereallabouther，neighing，andpawingtheearth，andstrikingherwiththeirforefeetandsnappingatherflanks。Itwastheoldlibertyoftherangethatthelittlebeastfoughtfor。
　　“Dropthereinsandholdtight，tight！“Ericcalled，throwingallhisweightuponthebit，strugglingunderthosefranticforefeetthatnowbeatathisbreast，andnowkickedatthewildmustangsthatsurgedandtossedabouthim。Hesucceededinwrenchingthepony’sheadtowardhimandcrowdingherwithersagainsttheclaybank，sothatshecouldnotroll。
　　“Holdtight，tight！“heshoutedagain，launchingakickatasnortinganimalthatrearedbackagainstMargaret’ssaddle。Ifsheshouldlosehercourageandfallnow，underthosehoofs——Hestruckoutagainandagain，kickingrightandleftwithallhismight。Alreadythenegligentdrivershadgallopedintothecut，andtheirlongquirtswerewhistlingovertheheadsoftheherd。
　　Assuddenlyasithadcome，thestruggling，franticwaveofwildlifesweptupoutofthegulchandonacrosstheopenprairie，andwithalongdespairingwhinnyoffarewelltheponydroppedherheadandstoodtremblinginhersweat，shakingthefoamandbloodfromherbit。
　　EricsteppedclosetoMargaret’ssideandlaidhishandonhersaddle。“Youarenothurt？“heasked，hoarsely。Asheraisedhisfaceinthesoftstarlightshesawthatitwaswhiteanddrawnandthathislipswereworkingnervously。
　　“No，no，notatall。Butyou，youaresuffering；theystruckyou！“shecriedinsharpalarm。
　　Hesteppedbackanddrewhishandacrosshisbrow。
　　“No，itisnotthat，“hespokerapidlynow，withhishandsclenchedathisside。“Butiftheyhadhurtyou，Iwouldbeattheirbrainsoutwithmyhands。Iwouldkillthemall。I
　　wasneverafraidbefore。Youaretheonlybeautifulthingthathasevercomeclosetome。Youcamelikeanangeloutofthesky。
　　Youarelikethemusicyousing，youarelikethestarsandthesnowonthemountainswhereIplayedwhenIwasalittleboy。YouarelikeallthatIwantedonceandneverhad，youareallthattheyhavekilledinme。Idieforyoutonight，tomorrow，foralleternity。Iamnotacoward；IwasafraidbecauseIloveyoumorethanChristwhodiedforme，morethanIamafraidofhell，orhopeforheaven。Iwasneverafraidbefore。Ifyouhadfallen——oh，myGod！“Hethrewhisarmsoutblindlyanddroppedhisheaduponthepony’smane，leaning]implyagainsttheanimallikeamanstruckbysomesickness。Hisshouldersroseandfellperceptiblywithhislabouredbreathing。Thehorsestoodcowedwithexhaustionandfear。PresentlyMargaretlaidherhandonEric’sheadandsaidgently:
　　“Youarebetternow，shallwegoon？Canyougetyourhorse？“
　　“No，hehasgonewiththeherd。Iwillleadyours，sheisnotsafe。Iwillnotfrightenyouagain。“Hisvoicewasstillhusky，butitwassteadynow。Hetookholdofthebitandtrampedhomeinsilence。
　　Whentheyreachedthehouse，Ericstoodstolidlybythepony’sheaduntilWylliscametolifthissisterfromthesaddle。
　　“Thehorseswerebadlyfrightened，Wyllis。IthinkIwasprettythoroughlyscaredmyself，“shesaidasshetookherbrother’sarmandwentslowlyupthehilltowardthehouse。“No，I’mnothurt，thankstoEric。Youmustthankhimfortakingsuchgoodcareofme。He’samightyfinefellow。I’lltellyouallaboutitinthemorning，dear。IwasprettywellshakenupandI’mgoingrighttobednow。Goodnight。“
　　Whenshereachedthelowroominwhichsheslept，shesankuponthebedinherridingdress，facedownward。
　　“Oh，Ipityhim！Ipityhim！“shemurmured，withalongsighofexhaustion。Shemusthavesleptalittle。Whensheroseagain，shetookfromherdressaletterthathadbeenwaitingforheratthevillagepost-office。Itwascloselywritteninalong，angularhand，coveringadozenpagesofforeignnote-paper，andbegan:
　　MyDearestMargaret:ifIshouldattempttosayhowlikeawinterhaththineabsencebeen，Ishouldincurtheriskofbeingtedious。Really，ittakesthesparkleoutofeverything。
　　Havingnothingbettertodo，andnotcaringtogoanywhereinparticularwithoutyou，IremainedinthecityuntilJackCourtwellnotedmygeneraldespondencyandbroughtmedownheretohisplaceonthesoundtomanagesomeopen-airtheatricalsheisgettingup。
　　AsYouLikeItisofcoursethepieceselected。MissHarrisonplaysRosalind。Iwishyouhadbeenheretotakethepart。MissHarrisonreadsherlineswell，butsheiseitheramaiden-all-forlornoratomboy；insistsonreadingintothepartallsortsofdeepermeaningsandhighlycolouredsuggestionswhollyoutofharmonywiththepastoralsetting。Likemostoftheprofessionals，sheexaggeratestheemotionalelementandquitefailstodojusticetoRosalind’sfacilewitandreallybrilliantmentalqualities。GerardwilldoOrlando，butrumorsaysheiseprisofyoursometimefriend，MissMeredith，andhismemoryistreacherousandhisinterestfitful。