"Nothing, Margaret,—only it seems to me that we mortals are always riding or fishing, eating or drinking, and that we never get to living. To tell you the truth, the pies were too sour. Come, we must go," she said aloud.
Redmond himself brought Folly from the stable.
"We will ride home together," he said. "My calm nag will suit yours better than Black. Why does your hand tremble?"
He saw my shaking hands, as I took the rein; the fact was, my wrists were nearly broken.
"Nothing shall happen to-night, I assure you," he continued, while he tightened Folly's girth.
He contrived to be busy till all the party had disappeared down a turn of the road. As he was mounting his horse, Mrs. Sampson, who was on the steps, whispered to me,—
"He's a beautiful young man, now!"
He heard her; he had the ear of a wild animal; he took off his hat to
Mrs. Sampson, and we rode slowly away.
As soon as we were in the wood, Redmond tied the bridles of the horses together with his handkerchief. It was so dark that my sight could not separate him from his horse. They moved beside me, a vague, black shape. The horses' feet fell without noise in the cool, moist sand. If our companions were near us, we could not see them, and we did not hear them. Horses generally keep an even pace, when travelling at night,—subdued by the darkness, perhaps,—and Folly went along without swaying an inch. I dropped the rein on his neck, and took hold of the pommel. My hand fell on Redmond's. Before I could take it away, he had clasped it, and touched it with his lips. The movement was so sudden that I half lost my balance, but the horses stepped evenly together. He threw his arm round me, and recoiled from me as if he had received a blow.
"Take up your rein," he said, with a strange voice,—"quick!—we must ride fast out of this."