A moment more and the tall swamp-huckleberry bushes at the edge of the sandy beach parted and between them stepped gingerly a clean-cut, handsome brown horse, which threw up its head at the sight of the water and then trotted lightly toward it. The rider, who sat so easily in the saddle, was a girl. And the girl was Mabel Colton!
She did not notice me at first, but gave her attention to the horse. The animal waded into the water to its knees and, in obedience to a pull on the reins, stopped, bent its head, and began to drink. Then the rider turned in her seat, looked about her, saw the heap of wood for the fire, the open lunch basket, the rods and landing-net, and—me.
I had stepped from the bushes when she first appeared and was standing motionless, staring, I imagine, like what Dorinda sometimes called her husband—a “born gump.” There was Fate in this! no doubt about it. The further I went to avoid this girl, and the more outlandish and forsaken the spot to which I fled, the greater the certainty of our meeting. A feeling of helplessness came over me, as if I were in the clutch of destiny and no effort of mine could break that clutch.
For a moment she looked as if she might be thinking the same thing. She started when she saw me and her lips parted.
“Oh!” she exclaimed, softly. Then we gazed at each other without speaking.
She was the first to recover from the surprise. Her expression changed. The look of alarm caused by my sudden appearance left her face, but the wonder remained.
“Why! Why, Mr. Paine!” she cried. “Is it you?”
I stepped forward.
“Why, Miss Colton!” said I.
She drew a breath of relief. “It IS you!” she declared. “I was beginning to believe in hallucinations. How you startled me! What are you doing here?”