"Then he'll find it a stony long way back to Boston." He laughed again. "You see, I've been worrying myself, off and on, about that trick of Madcap's—I'll be sworn she came within an ace of crossing her legs that day. I'd a mind to ride over and bring you Forester—he's a soberer horse, and can be trusted at timber. I'd resolved on it, in short, even before my brother Harry happened to blurt out the secret of Lady Caroline's little expedition. Soon as I heard that, I put George the groom on Forester, and came in chase. . . . I find her ladyship at Natchett, and after some straight talking I put George in charge of the conspirators, with instructions to drive them home. They chose to say nothing of Silk, and I didn't guess; so now the rogue must either leg it back or gall himself on a waggon-horse."
"You worried yourself about me?"
"Certainly. You don't suppose I want my pupil to break her neck?"
"You do Madcap injustice. Why, yesterday she jumped—she almost flew— this very gate on which I am leaning."
"The more reason—" he began, and broke off. His tone had been light, but when he spoke again it had grown graver, sincerer. "It is a fact that I worried about you, but that is not all the reason why I am here. The whole truth is more selfish. . . . Ruth, I cannot do without you."
She put up a hand, leaning back against the gate as though giddy.
"But why?" he urged, as she made no other response. "Is it that you still doubt me—or yourself, perhaps?"
"Both," she murmured. "It is not so easy as you pretend." Bliss had weakened her for a while, but the weakness was passing.
"Those women have been talking to you. I can engage, whatever they said, I gave it back to 'em with interest. They sail by the next ship. . . . But what did they say?"
"They say. What say they? Let them say," Ruth quoted, her lips smiling albeit her eyes were moist. "Does it matter what they said?"