The black mare and her rider were now on thoroughly confidential terms, and, so humiliatingly interwoven are soul and body, as the exercise quickened the blood in her veins, Francie’s incorrigible youth rose up, and while it brightened her eyes and drove colour to her cheeks, it whispered that somehow or other happiness might come to her. She rode fast till she reached the turn to Gurthnamuckla, and there, mindful of her husband’s injunctions that she was not to ride up to the house, but to wait for him on the road, she relapsed into a walk.
As she slackened her pace, all the thoughts that she had been riding away from came up with her again. What claim had Roddy on her now? She had got him out of his trouble, and that was the most he could expect her to do for him. He hadn’t thought much about the trouble he was bringing on her; he never as much as said he was sorry for the disgrace it would be to her. Why should she break her heart for him and Gerald’s heart too?—as she said Hawkins’ name to herself, her hands fell into her lap, and she moaned aloud. Every step the mare was taking was carrying her farther from him, but yet she could not turn back. She was changed since yesterday; she had seen her husband’s soul laid bare, and it had shown her how tremendous were sin and duty; it had touched her slumbering moral sense as well as her kindness, and though she rebelled she did not dare to turn back.
It was not till she heard a pony’s quick gallop behind her, and looking back, saw Hawkins riding after her at full speed, that she knew how soon she was to be tested. She had scarcely time to collect herself before he was pulling up the pony beside her, and had turned a flushed and angry face towards her.
“Didn’t you get my note? Didn’t you know I was coming?” he began in hot remonstrance. Then, seeing in a moment how ill and strange she looked, “What’s the matter? Has anything happened?”
“Roddy came home yesterday evening,” she said, with her eyes fixed on the mare’s mane.
“Well, I know that,” interrupted Hawkins. “Do you mean that he was angry? Did he find out anything about me? If he did see the note I wrote you, there was nothing in that.” Francie shook her head. “Then it’s nothing? It’s only that you’ve been frightened by that brute,” he said, kicking his pony up beside the mare, and trying to look into Francie’s downcast eyes. “Don’t mind him. It won’t be for long.”
“You mustn’t say that,” she said hurriedly. “I was very wrong yesterday, and I’m sorry for it now.”
“I know you’re not!” he burst out, with all the conviction that he felt. “You can’t unsay what you said to me yesterday. I sat up the whole night thinking the thing over and thinking of you, and at last I thought of a fellow I know out in New Zealand, who told me last year I ought to chuck the army and go out there.” He dropped his reins on the pony’s neck, and took Francie’s hand. “Why shouldn’t we go there together, Francie? I’ll give up everything for you, my darling!”
She feebly tried to take her hand away, but did not reply.
“I’ve got three hundred a year of my own, and we can do ourselves awfully well on that out there. We’ll always have lots of horses, and it’s a ripping climate—and—and I love you, and I’ll always love you!”