Ida sat for an instant, looking round with a puzzled frown; then she
slipped down, took the bridle off the chestnut and slipped it on the
colt, the chestnut, who evidently understood the business, standing
stock still.
"Now I'll hold it--it will be quieter with me--if you will please
change the saddle."
Unthinkingly, Stafford obeyed, and got the saddle on the jigging and
dancing youngster. As unthinkingly, he put Ida up; and it was not until
the colt rose on its hind legs that he remembered to ask her if the
horse were broken.
"Scarcely," she said with a laugh; "but it will be all right.
Good-morning--and thank you!" And calling to the chestnut she turned
the colt and tore off, the chestnut and the dogs scampering after her.
Stafford's face grew hot for a moment with fear for her, then it grew
hotter with admiration as he watched her skimming across the moor in
the direction of the Hall. Once, just before she vanished from his
sight, she turned and waved her hand to him as if to assure him that
she was safe. The gesture reminded him of the white figure standing in
the doorway last night, and something stirred in his heart and sent a
warm thrill through him.
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