"From whence did you conjure them, gentle mistress?" asked the fool.
"Some one I knew placed them there."
"But why—two horses, good Jacqueline?"
"Because I am minded to show you the path through the wood," she replied. "You might mistake it and then my purpose would not be served. Give me your hand, sir. I am wont to have my own way." And as he reluctantly extended his palm she placed her foot upon it, springing lightly to the saddle. "'Tis but a canter through the forest. The day is glorious, and 'twill be rare sport."
Already had she gathered in the reins and turned her horse, galloping down a road that swept through a grove of poplar and birch, and he, after a moment's hesitation, rode after her. Like one born to the chase, she kept her seat, her lithe figure swaying to the movements of the steed. Soon the brighter green of her gown fluttered amid the somber-tinted pines and elms, as the younger forest growth merged into a stern array of primeval monarchs. Here reigned an austere silence—a stillness that now became the more startlingly broken.
"Jacqueline!" said the fool, spurring toward her. "Do you hear?"
"The hunters? Yes," she replied.
"They are coming this way."
"Perhaps it were better to draw back from the road," she suggested, calmly.
"Do you draw back to the castle!" he returned, quickly, his brow overcast.