“Lead the horse to that stone. I will not soil myself by letting you help me.”
I led him where she pointed; and she mounted with the ease of a practised horsewoman. She even gathered up the reins and settled herself in the saddle; and then waited to look almost yearningly for some sign from me. I gave none, but held the bridle as if I had been her groom.
Chris stood looking from one to the other of us as if in deep perplexity.
“Will you take the dog?” I asked.
Then came the end.
“Do you mean me to go?” It was all I had been waiting for.
“No, not now,” I answered at once; “since you see the folly of it.”
“How dare you? I WILL go now;” and she gripped the reins tightly and touched the horse with her heel. But he hadn’t much fire in him, and obeyed my hand on the bridle instead of her heel. I held him with my left hand and stretched out the other toward her.
“Come; you had better dismount. This folly has gone far enough;” and I put as much command and authority as possible into my tone.
I shall never forget the look she gave me, nor my surprise when a second later she put her hand into mine and slipped off the saddle. The rush of relief was too great for her to simulate further anger.