'I have never ridden
since I was a little girl, when my father--'
Her voice died away; her look was averted, and Marcian, remembering
the shame that mingled with her memories, began to talk of other
things.
By a path that circled the villa, they came to a little wood of
ilex, which shadowed the brink of the larger cataract. Marcian had
bidden Veranilda's woman follow them, but as they entered the wood,
his companion looking eagerly before her, he turned and made a
gesture of dismissal, which the servant at once obeyed. In the
shadiest spot which offered a view of the plunging river, he asked
Veranilda if she would alight.
'Willingly, I would spend an hour here,' she replied. 'The leafage
and the water make such a delightful freshness.'
'I have anticipated your thought,' said Marcian. 'The woman is gone
to bid them bring seats.'
Veranilda glanced back in surprise and saw that they were alone. She
thanked him winsomely, and then, simply as before, accepted his
help. Again Marcian held her an instant, her slim, light body
trembling when he set her down, as if from a burden which strained
his utmost force.
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