“Let me go to your own gate, please!”
“Not at all!” she said with decision.
“Then Oscar will pick him up. If you don’t see him, turn the horse loose. But my thanks—for oh, so many things!” he pleaded.
“To-morrow—or the day after—or never!”
She laughed and put out her hand; and when he tried to detain her she spoke to the horse and flashed away toward home. He listened, marking her flight until the shadows of the valley stole sound and sight from him; then he turned back into the hills.
Near her father’s estate Shirley came upon a man who saluted in the manner of a soldier.
It was Oscar, who had crossed the bridge and ridden down by the nearer road.
“It is my captain’s horse—yes?” he said, as the slim, graceful animal whinnied and pawed the ground. “I found a horse at the broken bridge and took it to your stable—yes?”
A moment later Shirley walked rapidly through the garden to the veranda of her father’s house, where her brother Dick paced back and forth impatiently.
“Where have you been, Shirley?”