What he heard, or fancied he heard, was his name called out by the most musical voice in the world:
“Dick—Dick! you have come!”
The first words struck his ears when he was beneath the high bank; before the last were uttered he was a hundred yards away, tugging at the reins. When he succeeded in bringing his horse to a standstill, he heard in front of him a hailing of voices. Peering forward beyond the shade of the bank on the white road, he saw figures moving—figures with a swaying lantern.
He responded to their hail, and saw them hurrying toward him, their lantern swinging more rapidly.
And then behind him he heard Betsy Linley’s voice crying:
“Dick—Dick, come back to me—come back!”
He swung his horse round with a cry of delight.
There she stood, a white figure at the foot of the firs of a wooded slope—there she stood, waving her white arms to him—waving him back to her.
“Thank God—thank God—thank God!”
He could gasp nothing more as he flung himself from his saddle, and she sprang from the bank into his arms.