Suddenly the Emperor halted and glanced backward with an expression of imploring anxiety, then swerving toward the left, he galloped toward a small grove of pine trees. His patience was finally exhausted.
Mr. Fenton brought his horse to a standstill.
“Stay here, please, Tory,” he said quietly, but in a tone of authority that would be instinctively obeyed.
More cautiously and slowly he followed their guide.
Tory suffered in the next interval of ten minutes.
She watched Mr. Fenton striding through the opening toward the small grove of trees. Then from her present position she was unable to see him.
Of course it was only a few moments, but it seemed interminable to Tory before she heard him calling her name in a tone of voice entirely new to her ears.
It left no room for hesitation or doubt.
Getting out of the sleigh, she ran in the direction she had seen Mr. Fenton take, fighting her way with her arms and hands as well as her feet and legs.
Without realizing what she had done, she left the horse standing midway in the snow-piled country road.