Hardly could he keep pace with her along the winding path, with
such frantic speed she ran. At the stile she forbade him to accompany
her farther.
"What! leave you to walk alone, and at such an hour, my darling?" It was
nearly two o'clock.
"Why not?" she cried, turning upon him fiercely. "I am afraid of none
but you, and of those whom I should love, but of whom you make me
afraid." Then up the white road she glided like a ghost.
Richard watched her with anxious eyes as long as he could, then sat upon
the stile, a prey to apprehensions. To what dangers might he not have
already exposed her by his inconsiderate pursuit! Suppose some eye had
seen them on their way, or should meet her now on her return! Suppose
her own fears should prove true, and her father had already discovered
their absence! His thoughts were loyally occupied with Harry alone; but
the peril to himself was considerable. It was impossible that he could
satisfactorily explain his companionship with the inn-keeper's daughter
at such a place and hour. The truth would never be believed, even if it
could be related. She had got home by this time; but had she done so
unobserved? Otherwise, it was more than probable that he should find two
Cornish giants waiting, if not "to grind his bones to make their bread,"
at least to break them with their cudgels.
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