When at length, wearied with the rapid pace and my horse giving signs of laboring, I pulled him down to a walk and settled with a feeling of tired comfort in the saddle, the buoyancy of youth had reasserted itself in me and I felt at peace with the world.
I had turned about and was well on my way toward home again, given over to pleasant thoughts about lighter things, when I overtook and passed a woman riding by herself. I scarcely noticed her and would have continued on without giving her a second thought if I had not heard my name called after me. I stopped and looked back and, to my surprise, recognized Belle Stanton.
She was approaching me slowly, patting the neck of her horse, that was a little restive under her, and her manner betokened no consciousness of anything unusual in her salute. For a moment I was doubtful of the accuracy of my hearing, for I scarcely knew her, if it could be said I knew her at all, the chance meeting at the trial furnishing the only excuse for acquaintanceship; but my doubts were dispelled by her friendly little nod as she came up with me.
Evidently she considered the acquaintance legitimate enough for informality, even if I did entertain some doubts on the subject. She looked well in her riding habit and sat her horse gracefully, and as she swayed in her saddle, looked at me with a merry challenge in her eyes.
"You had rather ride with me than ride alone, had you not?" she asked demurely, and I obediently wheeled my horse beside hers, as I assured her the encounter was welcome; and while we rode on together, she told me she had wanted to know me for a long time, and that she felt we were old friends, though this had been our first real meeting, and many other such things that a man likes to hear a pretty woman say even though he knows she is fooling him.
"Don't you think," she said, "that people sometimes feel they are going to like each other before they have ever met?" and she laid her hand gently on my arm and looked up for my answer.
I have since tried to defend myself for the weakness of that moment in which I was near being recreant to the memory of a friend, but I know in my heart that there was no excuse for me except it be the witchery of the woman and the charm of the occasion. She was pretty—awfully pretty—and she knew all too well how to attract men, and then, too, the time and place were in her favor.
The winter's day was in its last twilight, the moon was already filling the wayside with light that made shadows on the snow, and through the long avenue of trees that stretched before us no one was in sight, we two were alone. As I felt the caressing touch and looked into the fair face lifted to mine, I forgot all else in the intoxication of the moment, and responding impulsively leaned down to meet her glance and would have been guilty of what foolishness I know not, had her woman's mood not changed in time to save me.
With a laugh she rapped me over the fingers with her whip and, spurring her horse, was gone from my reach in a moment. No man altogether likes the sensation of having been played with, and as I galloped after her I made up my mind not to let myself be again distracted by her wiles, but when I should have overtaken her to make the most of my opportunity to learn anything more she might know about the death of White.
When she had tired of the fun of leading me a long and not very dignified chase, she pulled up and waited for me to rejoin her, remarking casually as I did so that I seemed to have a "good steady horse."