“I really almost believe you are a mind-reader,” mocked Julian.
Their eyes met and held in the moonlight. Julian’s face was white and strained. Winthrop’s was smiling, but the mouth set hard and there was a dangerous sparkle in the eyes. Challenge met challenge. Winthrop laughed softly.
“You see, Miss Holly,” he said, turning to her, “I am forced to exhibit my deficiencies, after all, or stand accused of cowardice. I pray you to mercifully turn your eyes away.”
“Please don’t,” said Holly, in a troubled voice. “Really, Queen isn’t safe, Mr. Winthrop.”
“The advice is good, sir,” drawled Julian. “The mare isn’t safe.”
“Oh, pardon me, the mare is quite safe,” replied Winthrop, as he took the bridle reins from Julian’s hand; “it’s I who am not safe. But we shall see. At least, Miss Holly, credit me with the modesty which Mr. Wayne seems to begrudge me, for here on the verge of the sacrifice I acknowledge myself no horseman.”
He placed his foot in the stirrup and sprang lightly enough into the saddle. White Queen flattened her ears as she felt a new weight on her back, but stood quite still while Winthrop shortened the reins.
“Come on, Queen,” he said. The mare moved a step hesitatingly and shook her head. At that moment there was a sharp cry of warning from Holly. Julian raised the whip in his hand and brought it down savagely, and the mare, with a cry of terror, flung herself across the narrow roadway so quickly that Winthrop shot out of the saddle and crashed against the picket fence, to lie crumpled and still in the moonlight. Holly was beside him in the instant and Julian, tossing aside his whip, sprang after her.
Holly turned blazing eyes upon him.
“No, no!” she cried, wildly. “You shan’t touch him! [Keep away! You’ve killed him.] I won’t let you touch him!” She threw one arm across Winthrop’s breast protectingly, and with the other sought to ward Julian away.