"What race?" she asked coolly, turning on him a level gaze that, in spite of her, she could not maintain under the stare with which he returned it. And again the slight uneasiness crept over her and involuntarily she looked around her at the woods.
"How far is it now?" she inquired.
"Are you tired?"
"No. But I'm anxious to get back. Could you tell me how near to some road we are?"
He halted and looked around; she watched him anxiously as he tossed his bridle over his horse's neck and walked forward into a little glade where the late rays of the sun struck ruddy and warm on the dry grass.
"That's singular," he said as she went forward into the open where he stood; "I don't seem to remember this place."
"But you know about where we are, don't you?" she asked, resolutely suppressing the growing uneasiness and anxiety.
"Well—I am not perfectly certain." He kept his eyes off her while he spoke; but when she also turned and gazed helplessly at the woods encircling her, his glance stole toward her.
"You're not scared, are you?" he asked, and then laughed abruptly.
"Not in the slightest."