Ah, who is this come out beside him? Tall, like a young tree. Who is this come to stand beside him and stare out of wide eyes? Eyes set under a brow harnessed with thick brown coils of hair. Young and careless and lovelier than all the beauty that slumbers through this summer afternoon. What fields of lilies yearn for her to seek them, that her slim white feet may crush among their stems, and they meet death from one lovelier than themselves? What woods of greedy violets sigh for her to pass among them that they may steal her fragrance and make the world sick with a sweeter sweetness? Ah, what a poor tongue has legend. This was she whom rumour said bloomed lovely by the river. Beauty born humbly, but not so humble that pale pilgrims did not glide through the silences to lift the clapper of her door. Beauty housed humbly in a shabby temple; but beauty itself not humble. The flame that burnt! Ah, rescue him!
She drew tight a rein and turned away; and as she passed again among the trees the birds were fluting in the boughs and on one hand the face of the waters twinkled in sunshine and in sleep. Once she thought his voice came after her, commanding her to wait; but she scorned to turn about lest imagination mocked, and again she saw that hut set among the trees. It seemed Stockings turned sluggard for this homeward journey, and in rage she plunged sudden spurs into his sides. He snorted loud and rose high into the air, and she must lean upon his wither to persuade him to earth. Thereafter he turned fretful, seeking to reef the reins from her hands. They passed among the trees until the last ribbons of water were hidden. Hark! On the edge of the timber and the empty land a hurry of hoofs reached her ears. Quickly it grew loud. Some madman rode. It was he come after her. He would ride at her side in a moment. Give her strength to meet him manfully. Fool he to seek her out now. She hated him with a hate as great as the love he had murdered.
"I called out I would ride back with you. I had to saddle up. What was the hurry?"
"To tell the truth I didn't know I was needed. I set out to ride alone, and thought to finish the journey alone. But we can ride together now if you wish. The way lies side by side a mile or two. As well to practise again this art of riding side by side, lest it be quite forgotten. One—two—three—weeks, since we had last lesson. And once we used half the days of the week in mastering the art. Why these scowls, friend Jim?"
"Come, don't talk riddles, Maud. I'm not in humour to read them. If you have things to say, say them now while we have the place to ourselves. Say what must be said. Big words can drop and break here, and lie well broken. My ears are on edge for listening. But don't give me riddles."
"'Jim Power has tied himself up in a knot with some girl on the river.' Soft words, Jim, to have flung at me this morning.... Oh, how could you do this?"
"Gently, Maud."
"Gently? No, any word but that. Speak up, Jim. What knots your tongue? Cry at me doubter, liar, shabby tattler of tales. The bitterer your words, the sweeter I shall hear them. Where is your tongue? Say you are sick with me for doubting. Say the taste of this day will never leave your mouth, Jim. Frowns won't feed me."
"Stop. I am at the end of what I can bear."