She yielded without further parley and he dropped her wrists at once.

“Please say no more.  You must not make me sorry I came.  I must go,—­I should have gone back instantly.”

“But not across that spider’s web.  You must go by the long road.  I will give you a horse and ride with you into the valley.”

“It is much nearer by the bridge,—­and I have my horse over there.”

“We shall get the horse without trouble,” he said, and she walked beside him through the starlighted wood.  As they crossed the open tract she said: 

“This is the Port of Missing Men.”

“Yes, here the lost legion made its last stand.  There lie the graves of some of them.  It’s a pretty story; I hope some day to know more of it from some such authority as yourself.”

“I used to ride here on my pony when I was a little girl, and dream about the gray soldiers who would not surrender.  It was as beautiful as an old ballad.  I’ll wait here.  Fetch the horse,” she said, “and hurry, please.”

“If there are explanations to make,” he began, looking at her gravely.

“I am not a person who makes explanations, Mr. Armitage.  You may meet me at the gate.”

As he ran toward the house he met Oscar, who had become alarmed at his absence and was setting forth in search of him.

“Come; saddle both the horses, Oscar,” Armitage commanded.

They went together to the barn and quickly brought out the horses.

“You are not to come with me, Oscar.”

“A captain does not go alone; it should be the sergeant who is sent—­yes?”

“It is not an affair of war, Oscar, but quite another matter.  There is a saddled horse hitched to the other side of our abandoned bridge.  Get it and ride it to Judge Claiborne’s stables; and ask and answer no questions.”

A moment later he was riding toward the gate, the led-horse following.

He flung himself down, adjusting the stirrups and gave her a hand into the saddle.  They turned silently into the mountain road.

“The bridge would have been simpler and quicker,” said Shirley; “as it is, I shall be late to the ball.”

“I am contrite enough; but you don’t make explanations.”

“No; I don’t explain; and you are to come back as soon as we strike the valley.  I always send gentlemen back at that point,” she laughed, and went ahead of him into the narrow road.  She guided the strange horse with the ease of long practice, skilfully testing his paces, and when they came to a stretch of smooth road sent him flying at a gallop over the trail.  He had given her his own horse, a hunter of famous strain, and she at once defined and maintained a distance between them that made talk impossible.

Her short covert riding-coat, buttoned close, marked clearly in the starlight her erect figure; light wisps of loosened hair broke free under her soft felt hat, and when she turned her head the wind caught the brim and pressed it back from her face, giving a new charm to her profile.