"And leave you here! Is it likely?"
"Well, let us both go," she said, as if amused by his obstinacy.
"Is it far?" he asked. "See if you can manage to balance on the
saddle--I would run beside you. It's all very well to talk of not
minding the rain, but this is a deluge."
She glanced at the horse.
"I couldn't get up--I could if he were barebacked, or if it were a
lady's saddle--it doesn't matter. Look, Donald and Bess are laughing at
you for making a fuss about a shower."
"Will you try--let me help you?" he pleaded. "I could lift you quite
easily--Oh, forgive me, but I'm not used to standing by and seeing a
girl get soaked."
"You are walking--not standing," she reminded him, solemnly.
Perhaps her smile gave him courage: he took her just below the
shoulders and lifted her on to the saddle, saying as he did so, and in
as matter-of-fact a voice as he could:
"If you'll just put your hand on my shoulder, you'll find that you can
ride quite safely--though I expect you could do it without that--I've
seen you ride, you know."
He kept his eyes from her, so that he did not see the hot blush which
mantled in the clear ivory of her face, or the sudden tightening of the
lips, as if she were struggling against some feeling, and fighting for
her usual self-possession.
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