“No!” she said.  “Now, I would have gone round by the old bridge, only that Allardyce told me you let him ride across this afternoon.”

“Still,” and the man stopped a moment, “it was daylight then, you see.”

Maud Barrington laughed a little, for his face was visible and she understood the slowness of his answer.  “Is that all?  It is moonlight now.”

[Illustration:  Maud Barrington laughed a little.]

“No,” said Winston dryly, “but one is apt to make an explanation too complete occasionally.  Will you let me help you down?”

Maud Barrington held out her hands, and when he swung her down watched him tramp away with the horse, with a curious smile.  A light compliment seldom afforded her much pleasure, but the man’s grim reserve had now and then piqued more than her curiosity, though she was sensible that the efforts she occasionally made to uncover what lay behind it were not without their risk.  Then he came back, and turned to her very gravely.

“Let me have your hand,” he said.

Maud Barrington gave it to him, and hoped the curious little thrill that ran through her when his hard fingers closed upon her palm did not communicate itself to him.  She also noticed that he moved his head sharply a moment, and then looked straight in front again.  Then the birches seemed to fall away beneath them, and they moved out across the dim gully with the loosely-laid planking rattling under their feet, until they came to a strip scarcely three feet wide which spanned a gulf of blackness in the shadow of the trees.

“Hold fast!” said Winston, with a trace of hoarseness.  “You are sure you feel quite steady?”

“Of course!” said the girl, with a little laugh, though she recognized the anxiety in his voice, and felt his hand close almost cruelly on her own.  She was by no means timorous, and still less fanciful, but when they moved out into the blackness that closed about them above and beneath along the slender strip of swaying timber she was glad of the masterful grip.  It seemed in some strange fashion portentous, for she felt that she would once more be willing to brave unseen perils, secure only in his guidance.  What he felt she did not know, and was sensible of an almost overwhelming curiosity, until when at last well-stiffened timber lay beneath them, she contrived to drop a glove just where the moonlight smote the bridge.  Winston stooped, and his face was clear in the silvery light when he rose again.  Maud Barrington saw the relief in it, and compelled by some influence stood still looking at him with a little glow behind the smile in her eyes.  A good deal was revealed to both of them in that instant, but the man dare not admit it, and was master of himself.

“Yes,” he said, very simply, “I am glad you are across.”

Maud Barrington laughed.  “I scarcely fancy the risk was very great, but tell me about the bridge,” she said.  “You are living beside it?”