She flung her coat up first, sent her sword stick spinning into the ditch, and stretched up her hand to clasp Sir Anthony’s. She came neatly up into the saddle before him, and got her leg over without fuss. A strong arm girdled her about, and the roan, stamping and sidling, was given his head. In a few minutes they were in the spinney, trotting briskly through, then out in the open fields, with the road lost to sight.
“My dear, my dear, you’re surely mad!” she said, but her fingers clasped his. “You should not — you should not, Tony — for me!”
Came only a little laugh from behind her, and a tightening of the hold about her waist.
“Lord, your unfortunate horse!” said Prudence. “I believe I’m no featherweight.”
“He’ll bear us both for as long as I need,” Sir Anthony said. “We bear southwards, John, and leave you by Easterly Woods.”
“Ay, sir,” John answered, pulling the muffler down from his face.
Prudence turned her head, and smiled at his stolid countenance. “Tell Robin, John. Oh, but how he would have delighted in this.”
“I’m like to find him bent on some madness,” grunted John.
Easterly Woods came into sight; in a few minutes they were under the spreading beeches, and the horses were pulled up.
Sir Anthony sprang down and lifted Prudence from the saddle. She had an odd delight in this masterful treatment of her, though she could have come down easily enough by herself. For a moment as he held her she looked down into his eyes, and saw them alight with laughter, and something else, more deep than that. She was set lightly on her feet, and for an instant caught his hands in hers. Then she turned and pulled her coat from the roan’s saddle.