It seemed so—so sudden, so like a water jet, was the leap of a dripping figure from behind it.
Capless, coatless, soaking from a climb along the stream’s bed, it swung before Pemrose’s eyes—and the whole world became a blinking washout.
Its arm was round Una in the saddle. Its hurling grip was on her captor’s bridle. It was between the two horsewomen. It bore down the lead strap, like a thread.
“An-drew!” gasped Pemrose—and dropped forward upon Revelation’s neck.
CHAPTER XXV
Spring
“Aunt Margot is getting better—Margaret her real name is—and I don’t know that I ought to call her ‘aunt’ after what she did to me ... but do you know I can’t help feeling sorry for her. She was really unbalanced when she put that through—had been becoming so for some time, so the doctors say.”
On the sidehill, near Camp Chicolee, on a spring day, two girls sat talking.
Below them, on the mountain, their horses grazed.
“Wasn’t it lovely of father to arrange for us to spend our Easter holidays, part of them, up here, at the farm—the stock farm?” remarked Una, beginning again, on another tack. “And to have the horses sent up here for us, too!”
“And to think of Revelation being my horse! I never—never can get over that.” The eyes of Pemrose rested upon the long, lithe shape—upon the finely curry-combed coat glistening, amberlike, in the April sunlight. “Menzies—Donald Menzies—didn’t like it one bit,” she dimpled mischievously, “his being given to me. He wanted to sell him.”