He raised a sudden, penetrating glance to her face.  She could not meet it.  It came to him that he was being put to a test.  The revulsion of feeling made him brutal.  Striding forward, he seized her horse by the rein.

“Get off!” he harshly commanded.

Colina had no thought but to obey.

He tied the rein to a limb and, turning back, seized her roughly by the wrists.

“What kind of a game is this?” he demanded.

Colina, breathless, terrified, delighted, laughed shakily.

He dropped her as suddenly as he had seized her, and walked away to the edge of the bank and sat down, staring sightlessly across the river and striving to still the tumult of his blood.  He was frightened by his own passion.  He had wished to hurt her.

Colina went to him and humbly touched his arm.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

He looked at her grimly.

“You should not try such tricks,” he said.  “A man’s endurance has its limits.”

There was something delicious to Colina in abasing herself before him.  She caught up his hand and pressed it to her cheek.

“How was I to know?” she murmured.  “Other men are not like you.”

“I might have surprised you,” he said grimly.

“You did!” whispered Colina.  The suspicion of a dimple showed in either cheek.

He rose.  “Let me alone for a minute,” he said.  “I’ll be all right.” 
He went to the horse and loosened the saddle girths.

Colina could have crawled through the grass to his feet.  She lay where he had left her until he came back.  He sat down again, but not touching her.  He was still pale, but he had got a grip on himself.

“Tell me,” he said quietly, “did you do it just for fun, or had you a reason?”

“I had a reason.”

“What was it?” he asked in cold surprise.

“I—­I can’t tell you while you are angry with me,” she faltered.

“I can’t get over it right away,” he said simply.  “Give me time.”

Colina hid her face in her arm and her shoulders shook a little.  It is doubtful if any real tears flowed, but the move was just as successful.  He leaned over and laid a tender hand on her shoulder.

“Ah, don’t!” he said.  “What need you care if I am angry.  You know I love you.  You know I—­I am mad with loving you!  Why—­it would have been more merciful for you to shoot me down than come at me the way you did!”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.  “I never dreamed it would hurt so much!  I had to do it—­Ambrose!”

It was the first time she had spoken his name.  He paused for a moment to consider the wonder of it.

“Why?” he asked dreamily.

Colina sat up.

“I worried all night about whether you would be sorry to-day,” she said, averting her head from him.  “I thought that nothing so swift could possibly be lasting.  And then this morning father and I had a frightful row.