“Oh!” she gasped, moving over quickly to the stake on which the lantern hung.  The wind was rushing through the tree-tops with increased fervor; the air was cool and wet with the signs of rain; a swirl of dust flew up into her face; the swish of leaves sounded like the splashing of water in the air.  Holding her heart for minutes, she at last regained some of the lost composure.  A hysterical laugh fell from her lips.  “What a goose!  It was an owl and I’ve heard hundreds of them up here.  Still, they do sound different outside of one’s own room.  It’s going to rain.  What wretched luck!  Dear me, I can’t stand here all night.  How black it is ahead there.  Oooh!  Really, now, it does seem a bit terrifying.  If I only had a lantern it wouldn’t be so—­” her gaze fell upon the laborers’ lantern that clattered aimlessly, uselessly against the stake.  An instant later she had jerked it from its fastening with a cry of joy.  “I’ll send it back when they go for my trunks.  What luck!”

Without a second’s hesitation she started off briskly into the woodland road, striding along with the splendid swing of the healthy Englishwoman who has not been trained to dawdle.  Her walking-skirt gave free play to her limbs; she was far past the well-known “line in the road” before she paused to take a full breath and to recapitulate.  Her heart beat faster and the sudden glow in her cheek was not from the exercise.  Somehow, out there alone in the world, the most amazing feeling of tenderness sped on ahead to Randolph Shaw.  She tried to put it from her, but it grew and grew.  Then she blushed deep within herself and her eyes grew sweet with the memory of those stolen, reprehensible hours along the frontier.  Something within her breast cried out for those shining, gone-by moments, something seemed to close down on her throat, something flooded her eyes with a softness that rolled up from her entire being.  Their line!  Their insurmountable barrier!  An absurd yet ineffable longing to fall down and kiss that line came over her with compelling force.

Her head grew light with the thought of those moments when their horses stood with muzzles together as if kissing by proxy—­the flush grew deeper, though her blood went cold and she trembled.

A pitiful confusion seized her, an inexplicable timidity crept into her heart, replacing the bold assurance that had been recklessly carrying her on to him.  It was as though some one had whispered the truth into her ear and she was beginning to believe.

From that moment her courage began to fail.  The glow from her lantern was a menace instead of a help.  A sweet timorousness enveloped her and something tingled—­she knew not what.

Spattering raindrops whizzed in her face, ominous forerunners from the inky sky.  The wind was whistling with shrill glee in the tree-tops and the tree-tops tried to flee before it.  A mile and a half lay between her and the big cottage on the hillside—­the most arduous part of the journey by far.  She walked and ran as though pursued, scudding over the road with a swiftness that would have amazed another, but which seemed the essence of slowness to her.  Thoughts of robbers, tramps, wild beasts, assailed her with intermittent terrors, but all served to diminish the feeling of shyness that had been interfering with her determination.