“No, that’s a mistake—he only rides eight and a half—he’s all leather and bones since he took to the juice of the poppy.”
I looked round for Mrs Marriott, fearing she might overhear some of these frank comments, low-spoken as they were, but she was nowhere to be seen and at that moment Anthony Kinsella came on to the court-house verandah with Colonel Blow and another man. He was smiling at some remark of the latter, but as he ran down the steps the smile fell from him and his face took on the hard, dark, hawk-like look habitual to it. He strode in amongst the horses and seized his own. Laughter and good-byes still hung on the air, but he bade good-bye to no one; abruptly in that rough voice with a crake in it that thrilled and filled me with longing to be a man too, to spring upon a horse, and ride with him into the night, he terminated their laughter and farewells.
“Cut this short, you fellows!”
A moment later every one was in the saddle ready to start. He was the only one left standing. He stood there amongst them, suddenly still as though he had forgotten something and was trying to remember what it was; and he was staring, staring, over heads, past faces, through the scarlet rays of the sinking sun, straight into my eyes; and I was staring back into his.
We took a long, long look at one another, and I think he read all that was in my heart for him; while what I saw told me that if all the world said otherwise I was to know that Anthony Kinsella was a true man and no knave. Those straight steady eyes were never the windows of a false soul. I had given myself to no traitor and liar, but to a brave and upright man, gentle and strong and fine.
And he was going from me: only God and the old blind hag Fate knew if I should ever see him again. Mayhap this was our farewell, this passing of hearts through the eyes; and it was not enough. Body and spirit cried out for more—a touching of hands at least. His eyes called me, dragged me; it was as though he thrust his hand into my breast and laid hold of my bare heart drawing it out towards himself, and with it me. For I felt my feet moving—moving, and swiftly and straight I walked to him, into his open arms, and he kissed me on the lips, there before every one.
“God keep you, my heart! Wait for me—and believe in me,” he said, and though his voice was low the words rang out clear and strong on the still air, for all to hear who listed. In that moment misery and distrust was wiped from my heart and from my life, as though it had never been.
An instant later all was over, he was riding ahead of his little band, away into the sunset: and the men and the children were cheering, hands were waving, hats and handkerchiefs fluttering. Cheer upon cheer rang through the air, and voices came ringing back, until they grew fainter and fainter, and at last only the far-off thud of the horses’ feet was heard.
Later I became aware that I was standing alone. The women I had come with had disappeared, and the few men left were looking at me curiously. None of them were men I knew. Suddenly I heard a woman laugh in a strange fashion. It was one of the sullen Dutch women Anthony had brought back from Linkwater. She stood amongst her Dutch friends and made a remark, speaking coarsely and pronouncing her words in a strangely raucous way:
“Yah vot!... he’s very faskinating, darie Kinsella... Too bad he’s married already!”