"It is the same," she said, "only that was much farther up. Come, we will cross."
He put out his hand as if to assist her. She did not take it, but stepped lightly to a large stone, then to another and another—springing a little to one side here, just touching a bowlder all but covered with water there, and so on, almost more rapidly than Frank could follow—as one who knew every footing of that uncertain causeway. They were on the other side presently, and took up the trail there.
"I did not know you were so handy crossing streams," said Frank. "I never saw you do it before."
"But that was not hard. I have crossed many worse ones. Perhaps I was lighter of foot then."
They now passed through another stretch of timber, Constance still leading the way. The trail was scarcely discernible here and there, as one not often used, but she did not pause. They had gone nearly a mile farther when a break of light appeared ahead, and presently they came to a stone wall and a traveled road. Constance did not scale the wall, but seated herself on it as if to rest. A few feet away Frank leaned against the barrier, looking at the road and then at his companion, curious but silent. Presently Constance said:
"You are wondering what I have to tell you, and why I have brought you all this way to tell it. Also, how I could follow the trail so easily—aren't you?" and she smiled up at him in the old way.
"Yes," admitted Frank; "though as for the trail, I suppose you must have been over it before—some of those times before I came."
She nodded.
"That is true. You were not here when I traveled this trail before. It was Robin who came with me the last time. But that was long ago—almost ten years."
"You have a good memory."