Whatever thoughts was in her mind, she roused up the old pony, and came towards us quick as soon as she catches sight of us. In two seconds Jim had lifted her down in his strong arms, and was holding her off the ground and hugging her as if she’d been a child. How the tears ran down her cheeks, though all the time she was kissing him with her arms round his neck; and me, too, when I came up, just as if we were boys and girls again.

After a bit she wiped her eyes, and said:

“How’s father?”

“Very bad,” I said; “off his head; and raving. It’ll be a close thing with him. Here’s your horse now, and a good one, too. We must let the old pony go; he’ll make home fast enough.”

She patted his neck and we turned him loose. He slued round and went away steady, picking a bit as he went. He’d be home next day easy enough, and nobody the wiser where he’d been to.

We’d brought a bit to eat and a glass of wine for the girl in case she was faint, but she wouldn’t take anything but a crust of bread and a drink of water. There was a spring that ran all the year round near the cattle-yard; and off went we, old Lieutenant holding up his head and showing himself off. He didn’t get such a rider on his back every day.

“What a dear horse,” she said, as she pulled him together a bit like and settle herself fair and square in the saddle. “Oh, how I could enjoy all this if—if. Oh my God! Shall we ever know a moment’s peace and happiness in this world again? Are we always to be sunk in wretchedness and misery as long as we live?”

We didn’t lose much time after that, you be sure. Up and down, thick and open, rough or smooth, we made the pace good, and Aileen gave us all we knew to keep ahead of her. We had a good light when we got to the drop down into the Hollow. The sun was just setting, and if we’d had time or thought to give to the looks of things, no doubt it was a grand sight.

All the Hollow was lighted up, and looked like a green sea with islands of trees in it. The rock towers on the other side of the range were shining and glittering like as if they were made of crystallised quartz or diamonds—red and white. There was a sort of mist creeping up the valley at the lower end under the mountain that began to soften the fire colours, and mix them up like. Even the mountain, that mostly looked black and dreary, frowning at our ways, was of purple and gold, with pale shadows of green and grey.