He had never in all her life refused her
anything, and she knew of no reason to fear refusal now. The only fear
that she felt was the dread of reaching Anvil Rock too late. She tried
to still the quivering of her nerves by reminding herself that he nearly
always came to Cedar House at this hour, if he had not been there
earlier in the day. But she could not help remembering that there were
times when he did not come. If he should not be on the way now, if she
should fail to meet him, if he should be still at his far-off home, or
have gone elsewhere--But she threw the paralyzing thought from her and
suddenly began to strike the pony again and again, with her soft little
open hands.
"Faster! You must go faster--you must! Surely you can. Please! It isn't
very far. We must be almost there!"
It would have been hard to tell whether the short, sharp strokes were
blows or caresses, and they ceased almost as abruptly as they had begun.
She was now nearly lying across his straining shoulders, and her soft,
bare arms were around his rough, shaggy neck. She did not know what she
was doing, the boy had taught her to ride so--barebacked in the
fields--when she was a child.
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