"Yes," he replied readily. "Where do you live?"
She pointed to where the smoke curled from the chimney of their home, a mile and a half away.
"The Watson place? I see. You are perhaps, then, newcomers here?"
"We are," and she smiled easily. He did also. He handed her the bridle reins then, and said:
"I trust you will pardon my forgetfulness. Indeed I was so absorbed in the fact that I had been saved, that I forgot to—to be courteous."
"Oh, no, sir!" she cried quickly. "You did not. You—" and then she broke off in her speech. It occurred to her that she was saying too much. But strangely she wanted to go on, strangely she wanted to know more of him: from where he had come; of his life, for already she could see that he was a gentleman; an unusual person—but he was speaking again.
"You have become chilled standing there—it is severely cold. Step back into the house and warm yourself before you start. I will hold your horse while you do so." And he reached for the bridle reins.
She looked up into his face, and again trusted him; again she experienced a peculiar gratitude, and turning she obeyed him. As she stood inside over the little monkey stove a moment later, she could see him, and appreciated how thoughtful he was.
She returned after a few minutes, stood beside the animal he had brought and was ready to go. Suddenly she vaulted into the saddle. She regarded him again intently, while he returned the same a bit abstractedly. She started to urge the mare forward, and then she drew her to a stop before she had gotten fully started. Impulsively she leaned forward and stretched her hand toward him. Mechanically he took it. She unconsciously gripped his, as she said:
"I'm glad it happened.... That I became lost and—and—you were saved." His dark face colored with gratitude, and he had an effort to keep from choking when he tried to reply. In the meantime, she bestowed upon him a happy smile, and the next moment her horse had found the trail and was dashing along it toward the place she lived.