But my spirit was dead. I reached for her hands, but they
eluded mine, slipped up my arms as she came sliding out of the saddle,
and then her face was very close to mine. "Russ!" she whispered. It was
torment, wistfulness, uncertainty, and yet tenderness all in one little
whisper. It caught me off guard or indifferent to consequences. So I
kissed her, without passion, with all regret and sadness. She uttered a
little cry that might have been mingled exultation and remorse for her
victory and her broken faith. Certainly the instant I kissed her she
remembered the latter. She trembled against me, and leaving unsaid
something she had meant to say, she slipped out of my arms and ran. She
assuredly was frightened, and I thought it just as well that she was.
Presently she disappeared in the darkness and then the swift little
clinks of her spurs ceased. I laughed somewhat ruefully and hoped she
would be satisfied. Then I put away the horses and went in for my
supper.
After supper I noisily bustled around my room, and soon stole out for my
usual evening's spying. The night was dark, without starlight, and the
stiff wind rustled the leaves and tore through the vines on the old
house.
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