Sybil clasped her hands, as if in involuntary thanksgiving, and sunk down upon the bank.
They rode toward her; as they reached the spot, she rose and called again:
"You are not hurt, Miss Waring?"
"Not in the least, I assure you."
"Not even frightened, I believe," added Laurence.
"I thought she was killed," exclaimed Sybil. "Oh, that dreadful shying horse! Don't—don't ride him again, Margaret."
The party drew rein near her.
"He meant no harm, poor fellow," returned Margaret.
"He might have killed you, nevertheless," said Sybil, with a sort of reproachful anxiety.
She spoke rapidly, and appeared much alarmed; nevertheless, she found time to steal a quick glance toward the stranger who accompanied her friends. As her eyes fell upon him she gave a slight start, and her face grew pale; but, with a strong effort, she mastered the emotion, and turned indifferently away.