But even as he said this, he realized that in the confusion he had lost his grip on the stallion. With a catch at his throat he looked out, and saw that it had moved off, grazing now on a sparse patch of green perhaps forty yards away. As if sensing his eyes upon it, the horse looked back at them alertly.
“I’ve got to catch him!” said the man. And he leapt to his feet. But at his first running strides toward it, the beast raised its head and galloped easily out of his reach, a short distance further up the path. Again the young officer made as if to charge.
“Stephen, wait.” Slowly she walked over to him, as to a child who had not understood his lessons.
“But I’ve got to---” She shook her head.
“No. What you’ve got to do is stop grabbing so hard at life, and learn to caress it---stop trying to make everything your slave. Haven’t you ever just let life come to you?”
“But the horse---”
“Has probably not experienced a moment of true freedom since you’ve owned him.”
“Mary.” His face betrayed deep conflict, and she knew that she had been right, and struck upon the roots of his character. “That animal is worth a fortune,” he continued desperately. “If he escapes, or is stolen.....”
“He won’t escape,” she said firmly. “This pass leads nowhere: a dead-end of stone. But that’s not what this is about. What you’re showing me now is that you’re afraid, terribly afraid to let go. You think that if you don’t go out and take, by force if necessary, then life will give you nothing, nothing at all. That is a lie which is cruel to both yourself and others. And if you want anything to do with me it must stop, here and now.”
“How do you know this?” he demanded. “You’re only guessing.” But he realized that by his very vehemence he was admitting the truth of what she said. Already she knew him. Somehow, she knew. He let out a breath, and said to her simply. “How would you retrieve my horse?”