We went out and I untethered the horse, and with Chris in close attendance, we walked without speaking to the mouth of the ravine, close to where her horse still lay.
“Will you hold him, while I get the side-saddle?” Our eyes met for a moment, and I saw that at last she was convinced I was in earnest.
I turned away, feeling bad, and unbuckled the girths from the dead animal, and then saddled the one she was to ride. I took plenty of time over the work, too, hoping she would see the madness of what she proposed to do and give in. But she shewed no sign of doing anything of the sort; and at last the work was done.
“All is ready,” I said, giving a last look at the bridle. “Can you mount by yourself, or shall I help you?”
She made no answer, but stood with her head half averted, looking away down the steep mountain road. She was biting her lips strenuously, and the fingers which held up her skirt were tightly, almost fiercely, clenched. Eloquent little proofs of the struggle that was raging between pride and prudence. But I held my tongue and just waited.
Then she turned to me. She was very pale, but her eyes were flashing.
“I thought you were a man,” she cried, between her set lips. I met her look steadily without a word. And we stood so for the space of some seconds; her face the embodiment of hot passionate contemptuousness; mine as impassive as a stone. “And what a coward you are!”
I stood as though my ears were indeed deaf.
She still hesitated; and the woman who hesitates can be saved as well as lost.
Then came the last effort of her pride.