She sat up and listened to the galloping of a horse and a voice singing in gay snatches. The sounds rose and sank and died away and came forth lustily again, and in the singing there was something full-blooded and urgent, as though the singer came from some danger joyfully escaped or hurried to some tryst. She stood up and, holding to a tree, she leaned sideways to listen. She heard Halkett speaking jovially to the mare as he pulled her up on the cobbles and gave her a parting smack of his open hand: then there began a sweet whistling invaded by other sounds, by Daisy's stamping in her stall, a corn-bin opened and shut, and Halkett's footsteps in the yard. Soon they were lost in the softness of the larch needles, but the whistling warned her of his coming and alarmed her with its pulsing lilt, and as she moved away and tried to make no noise, a dry branch snapped under her feet. "Where are you?" he called out. "Here," she answered, and awaited him. She could see the light gleaming in his eyes. "Were you running off?" "I didn't run." He wound his arm about a tree and said, "We came at a pace, the mare and I." "I heard you. Is Dr. Mackenzie coming?" "Yes--fast as that old nag of his will bring him." She slipped limply to the ground for she was chilled. She had braced herself for danger and it had turned aside, and she felt no thankfulness: she merely found George Halkett dull. "Thank you for going," she said in cool tones. "Now I must go back and see how Notya is." "No. I want to show you the side saddle." "Which?" "The one for you." Adventure was hovering again. "For me? Are you really going to teach me to ride?" "Didn't I say so?" "But when?" "When the rest of the world's in their beds." "Oh. Won't it be too dark?" "We'll manage. We'll try it first in daylight, right over the moor where no one goes. Most nights are not much darker than it is now, though. I can see you easily." "Can you?" She was rocking herself in the way to which she had accustomed him. "What can you see?" "Black hair and black eyes. Come here." "I'm quite comfortable and you should never tell a lady to come to you, George." "Are you asking me to come to you?" "Don't be silly. Aren't you going to show me the saddle?" "Yes. Where's your hand? I'll help you up. There you are! No, I'll keep your hand. The ground's steep and you might fall." "No. Let me have it, George."