NIGHT AND MORNING
Giles slipped from his horse, then turned to swing her to the ground. Virginia was shocked at the pallor of his face. He led the horses to a tree near the roadside. Virginia stood and waited and switched nervously at the daisies with her riding crop.
They walked in silence down the flower-strewn slope, passed through the fringe of willows, and reached the grassy bank of the stream.
"Do you feel as if you would rather not see it again so soon, Virginia—this old river?" There was an odd tremor; a quality in his voice quite new to her and one that set her heart to beating wildly.
"No, Giles, if it did nearly drown us, I love the river—because—because—" Her low voice faltered. There was a moment of silence, while both looked down into the cold black water as it swirled and eddied on its course. Each was thinking, not of the icy plunge, nor the narrow escape of death, but of something else; something which had happened when all hope seemed drowned in the icy water round about; something which had seemed so much greater and stronger and more enduring than the lives upon which their holds were slipping.
A wave of tenderness swept over Virginia, dimming her eyes, clearing her heart of all shyness. She raised her eyes quickly; they met Giles's—just for an instant—and then she was in his arms, clasped on his broad chest with a force which stifled her breath, while her flower face was crushed to his.
39
