Witham made no answer, and the man rode on until he drew bridle in front of them. Then he swung his hat off, and while the moonlight shone into his face looked down with a little ironical smile at the man and woman standing beside the horse. Witham closed one hand a trifle, and slowly straightened himself, feeling that there was need of all his self-control, for he saw his companion glance at him, and then almost too steadily at Lance Courthorne.
The latter said nothing for a space of seconds, for which Witham hated him, and yet in the tension of the suspense he noticed that the signs of indulgence he had seen on the last occasion were plainer in Courthorne’s face. The little bitter smile upon his lips was also not quite in keeping with the restlessness of his fingers upon the bridle.
“Is that bridge fit for crossing, farmer?” he asked.
“Yes,” said Witham quietly. “You must lead your horse.”
Maud Barrington had in the meanwhile stood very still, and now moved as by an effort. “It is time I rode on, and you can show the stranger across,” she said. “I have kept you at least five minutes longer than was necessary.”
Courthorne, Witham fancied, shifted one foot from the stirrup, but then sat still as the farmer held his hand for the girl to mount by, while when she rode away he looked at his companion with a trace of anger as well as irony in his eyes.
“Yes,” said Witham. “What you heard was correct. Miss Barrington’s horse fell lame coming from one of the farms, which accounts for her passing here so late. I had just led the beast across the incompleted bridge. Still, it is not on my account I tell you this. Where have you been and why have you broken one of my conditions?”
Courthorne laughed. “It seems to me you are adopting a somewhat curious tone. I went to my homestead to look for you.”
“You have not answered my other question, and in the meanwhile I am your tenant, and the place is mine.”
“We really needn’t quibble,” said Courthorne. “I came for the very simple reason that I wanted money.”