“Step up,” he said.
The stone slab she stood on was a fair height above the level of the horse’s feet, and, as she set her foot upon the shepherd’s boot, he swung her up in front of him and turned the beast’s head from the barn. She gave a cry, clinging to him as they moved forward, and his arm tightened round her, drawing her close.
“I won’t let ye drop, my dear,” said he: “no fear o’ that, Catherine. We’re going to Talgwynne.”
“To Talgwynne?”
“To my father’s house. Nobody’ll meddle with us there and we’ll leave it man and wife before long.”
As they crossed the yard and turned the corner of Mrs. Job’s house stillness lay on the world round them as the tide lies on the sands. But it was a strange thing that when they were a few yards distant on the green road past Pencoed Chapel, a latch was raised softly in the cottage.
And, as the tread of the dark horse died away, Mrs. Job, like Sarah in the Scriptures, stood behind the door and laughed.
Black Heber set his face to the open stretches below the mountain. Above, treading the paths of the sky, the planets wheeled on their way towards morning; the constellations had turned a little. The night, as it approached its zenith, had lightened under the dominance of the shining groups with their myriad companions.
Catherine was so slight that the double weight made small difference to the animal which carried the pair. Heber’s strong clasp held her firmly in front of him in the large country saddle, and as she grew more accustomed to the horse’s movements she sat more upright, looking into the darkness. To her eyes it was darkness positive, though to her discarded but inalienable lover, with his keen shepherd’s sight and his familiarity with every rood of the ground in all aspects and circumstances of weather, season, and hour, it was only comparative. It struck her that she would not have felt so secure with Charles under like conditions, though he considered himself a finer horseman and though he was such a well-appointed figure when he rode into the market-town on his sleek hackney. She would hardly have been a woman had the thought not given her pleasure. They turned towards the hill as the track opened into unconfined wideness. They had spoken little and no caress had passed between the reunited couple; Heber had not so much as kissed the woman in his arms. His attention was centred on the dark course he was steering, or fixed on landmarks only visible to his practised gaze. Nothing moved upon the hill-slopes rising on their left hand to bank themselves against the stars.
The horse was a fast walker and they had kept to a foot’s pace the whole way. All at once a stone, loosened perhaps from its bed on a higher level by the foot of some grazing sheep, came rolling down the hillside. They could hear it coming almost from the start of its downward career, though in the darkness it was impossible to guess at what point it might cross their way. The horse cocked his ears and sidled, and Heber shortened his rein, holding the girl as in a vice.