"Step into my hand. So."
He lifted her up into the seat that was half pannier, half saddle. Gaston and François had hoisted Durrell on to the old horse. De Rothan mounted his own, drew up beside Nance, and took Étoile's bridle. They rode out under the hollies and laurels and across the little stone bridge into the lane.
It was a fine night, splendid with stars. The world was black and silent and breathing in its sleep to the faint drift of a light sea breeze. The air was fresh and dewy. On Stonehanger Common a wood of birch trees with their delicate fingers caressed the stars.
De Rothan drew deep breaths.
"A southern night, and full of the smell of adventure. Has the desire to wander at will over the world ever come to you?"
She mistrusted the intimacy of his mood, and his nearness to her. Moreover, her thoughts were working against him, planning and scheming perpetually.
"I am so very sleepy."
She felt that he was looking at her.
"Poor Nance, poor girl. You shall go to bed, and not be worried."
He was silent a moment, and she hated him because he seemed so confident.