Here and there, in the three hundred feet stretch, great rock pinnacles stood out from the precipitous depths and overshadowed the path, and encouraged the wayfarer by offering him posts of vantage to be attained one by one.  But they were far apart, and at best it was an awesome place even on foot, while with a horse the dangers were as plain as the path itself.

Still it was a point of honour to cross the Coupee on Riding Day, and some even compassed it cautiously without dismounting, and took much credit to themselves, though others might call it by other names.

Some of the girls preferred to take no risks, and got down and walked wisely and safely, amid the laughter and good-humoured banter of the elect, across the gulf.  Most, however, showed their confidence in their swains, and at the same time trebled their anxieties, by keeping their seats and allowing their horses to be led across.

Young Torode came galloping across the Common while Gray Robin and Carette and I were still waiting our turn.  He reined in Black Boy with a firm hand, and the ruffled black sides worked like bellows, and the angry black head jerked restively, and the quick-glancing eyes looked troubled and vicious.

Torode laughed derisively as Elie Guerin set out with cautious step to lead his old horse over, with Judith Drillot clutching the saddle firmly and wearing a face that showed plainly that it was only a stern sense of duty to Elie that kept her up aloft.

“Ma foi!” laughed Torode.  “He would do it better in a boat.  It’s well seen that Monsieur Guerin was not born to the saddle.  Has no one ridden across yet?”

“But yes,—­Helier Godfray rode over all right.  All the same—­” said one, with a shrug and shake of the head.

“It’s as easy as any other road if you’ve got a steady head and a firm hand,” said Torode.

“Will you ride, Carette, or walk?” I asked.  “I shall lead Gray Robin.”

She looked down into my eyes for one moment, and I looked up into hers.  She did not like the Coupee, I knew, but she would not put me to shame.

“I will ride,” she said.

“You’re never going to lead across, Carre?” cried Torode.  “And with a horse like a Dutch galliot!  Man alive! let me take him over for you!—­Shall I?” and he bustled forward, looking eagerly up at Carette.

“Stand back!” I said brusquely.  “You’ll have quite enough to do to take yourself across, I should say,” and we were off.

“I’ll bring you back on Black Boy,” cried Torode consolingly to Carette.

Gray Robin’s mild eyes glanced apprehensively into the depths as we went slowly over, and his ears and nostrils twitched to and fro at the growl of the surf down below on either side.  I held him firmly by the head and soothed him with encouraging words.  The old horse snuffled between gratitude and disgust, and Carette clung tightly up above, and vowed that she would not cross on Black Boy whatever Torode might say.