The moon had
just swung up, round and coppery, from behind a rise, and when horse
and rider cut black and sharp against it his pulses throbbed faster and
a little flush crept into his face, for he knew every line of the
figure in the saddle. Some minutes had passed when Maud Barrington
rode slowly to the head of the bridge, and pulled up her horse at the
sight of him.
The moon turning silver now shone behind her head, and a tress of hair
sparkled beneath her wide hat, while the man had a glimpse of the
gleaming whiteness of rounded cheek and neck. Her face he could not
see, but shapely shoulders, curve of waist, and sweeping line of the
light habit were forced up as in a daguerreotype, and as the girl sat
still looking down on him, slender, lissom, dainty, etherealized almost
by the brightening radiance, she seemed to him a visionary complement
of the harmonies of the night. It also appeared wiser to think of her
as such than a being of flesh and blood whom he had wildly ventured to
long for, and he almost regretted when her first words dispelled the
illusion.
"It is dreadfully late," she said. "Pluto went very lame soon after I
left Macdonald's, and I knew if I went back for another horse he would
have insisted on riding home with me. I had slipped away while he was
in the granary. One can cross the bridge?"
"Not mounted!" said Winston. "There are only a few planks between the
stringers here and there, but, if you don't mind waiting, I can lead
your horse across.
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