She became aware of the rapid thud of hoofs behind, of a figure beside
her riding knee to knee, of a brown hand taking hold of the rein close
to the bit. The speed slackened. The horses pounded to a halt.
The girl found herself trembling. She leaned back in a haze of
dizziness against an arm which circled her shoulder and waist. Memory
leaped across the years to that other time when she had rested in his
arms, his heart beating against hers. In that moment of deep
understanding of herself, Beatrice knew the truth beyond any doubt. A
new heaven and a new earth were waiting for her, but she could not
enter them. For she herself had closed the gate and locked it fast.
His low voice soothed and comforted her.
"I'm all right," she told him.
Clay withdrew his arm. "I'd report that fellow if I had his number,"
he said. "You stick to yore saddle fine. You're one straight-up
rider."
"I'll ask Mr. Bromfield to give you fifty dollars' again," she laughed
nervously.
That word _again_ stuck in his consciousness.
"You've known me all along," he charged.
"Of course I've known you--knew you when you stood on the steps after
you had tied the janitor."
"I knew you, too."
"Why didn't you say so?"
"Did you expect me to make that grand-stand play on the _parada_ a
claim on yore kindness? I didn't do a thing for you that day any man
wouldn't have done. I happened to be the lucky fellow that got the
chance. That's all.
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