“Is she at home?”
“She is out riding with uncle. Now I will go up and get your parcel, which I had opened at home before I got aunt's note asking me here. No wonder we could never find her boot.”
Katie disappeared and at the same time Tom thought he heard the sound of horses' feet. Yes, and they had stopped, too. It must be Mary and her father. He could not see because of the blinds and other devices for keeping the room cool. But the next moment there were voices in the hall below, and then a light step on the carpeted stair, which no ear but his could have heard. His heart beat with heavy painful pulsations, and his head swam as the door opened, and Mary in her riding-habit stood in the room.
CHAPTER L
THE POSTSCRIPT
Our curtain must rise once again, and it shall be on a familiar spot. Once more we must place ourselves on the Hawk's Lynch, and look out over the well-known view, and the happy autumn fields, ripe with the golden harvest. Two people are approaching on horseback from the Barton side, who have been made one since we left them at the fall of the curtain in the last chapter. They ride lovingly together, close to one another, and forgetful of the whole world, as they should do, for they have scarcely come to the end of their honeymoon.
They are in country costume—she in a light habit, but well cut, and sitting on her as well as she sits on her dainty grey; he in shooting-coat and wide-awake, with his fishing basket slung over his shoulder. They come steadily up the hillside, rousing a yellow-hammer here and there from the furze-bushes, and only draw bit when they have reached the very top of the knoll. Then they dismount, and Tom produces two halters from his fishing basket, and taking off the bridles, fastens the horses up in the shade of the fir-trees, and loosens their girths, while Mary, after searching in the basket, pulls out a bag, and pours out a prodigal feed of corn before each of them, on the short grass.
“What are you doing, you wasteful little woman? You should have put the bag underneath. They won't be able to pick up half the corn.”
“Never mind, dear; then the birds will get it.”