“You should have gone before—hurry!” she whispered in alarm.
“Never mind. It was a risk, and I took it, and I’d take it again tomorrow. It gave me these minutes with you, it was worth—”
“You must go! Where’s your horse?”
“Down by the river in the willows. I can get to him, all right.”
“They may come any minute, they—”
“No, they’re dancing yet. I expected they’d find me out; they know me too well. I’ll get a start of them, before they even know I’m gone.”
“They may be waiting farther on—why don’t you go—go! There—listen!
“They’re saddling,” he whispered, as low sounds of haste came from the barnyard corral.
“Go—quick!” she urged, flinging his plaid across his arm.