She did not say more. She did not even think any more. She watched with parted lips as the slender girl, appearing to turn into an elf, went gliding across the green.
The dance was all but at an end when suddenly, without warning, the big girl was given a shock that set her blood running cold.
A twig snapped directly behind her. It was followed by an audible gasp.
At such a time, in such a place, carried away as she had been by the dramatic picture spread out before her, nothing could have startled her more.
Yet she must act. She was Jeanne’s defender. Strangers were here in the night. Who? Gypsies? Gamblers? Indians?
She sprang to her feet and whirled about to stare down the trail.
“No one,” she whispered.
The dance was at an end. Jeanne threw herself upon the ground, exhausted but apparently quite unafraid.
“She did not hear. I must not frighten her. She may never know.” Florence walked slowly toward her companion.
“Come,” she said quietly. “It is damp here; not a safe place to rest. We must go.”