"I'd like to ride with you," he said, rising to leave.
Beth had often spoken of her saddle-horse, which of late had been kept at her mother's country place. Bedient rented a very good mount in New York, but Beth remarked that her own had spoiled her for all others, adding that he would say so, too, if he could see Clarendon, the famous black she rode.
"I can't afford to keep him in the city long at a time," she explained. "Oh, it's not what he costs, but he's a devourer of daylight…. It breaks up half a day to get to the stables and change and all, and I haven't tried to ride after dark. We poor paint creatures are so dependent upon light for our work…. And yet riding adds to good health—just the right sparkle in my case."
"And that's royalty," Bedient declared.
Beth was thinking. He had spoken of riding with her before. He had been singularly appealing this day. Trouble had filled his eyes at the first sight of her, and she had felt his struggle with it…. Her mother had asked to see him, but there wasn't a good mate for Clarendon in or about Dunstan, where her home was…. She was so worn, mind and nerve and spirit, that the thought of a long ride lured strongly. She knew he would be different. Perhaps he might show, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that he was not identified with commonness…. He might bring the talk to the point of—Beth thrilled at this. She was far from ready, and yet with him before her, Wordling and the sea were remote and soundless.
"Could you get the good mare you ride—across to Jersey?"
"Yes," he said eagerly. "I could send a man over with her—a day ahead."
This was Thursday.
"I'll ride with you Saturday," she said finally. "You get your horse over to Dunstan Friday—to-morrow—and we'll start from here early Saturday morning. A day in the hills—and supper at night in my real home!"
She had never seen him so pleased, but Beth was a little startled at herself when she considered yesterday…. He was always so different when he came, from the creation of her mind when alone, and the doubts flew in and out. Then the little sacred book he had brought—so powerfully fathomed and marked—it was like bringing his youth to her, with all its thoughts and wanderings. He was particularly attractive to her in these little things, and she missed not a phase of such impulses. He delighted to see them in her house, he said, and she knew they had been his riches in the years of loneliness and wandering…. Far back in her faculties, however, the battle was furious and constant. Every faltering advance of faith was met and assailed.