Part 7 (1/2)

She did not hold the apple out enticingly, or make the cooing sounds of entreaty which she knew it would instinctively mistrust. She simply advanced, acting as if the reins did not exist, paused, came closer, then stopped carelessly perhaps ten feet away. She took another bite of the apple, then laughed as the creature snorted impatiently, and at last came up to her. She reached below its head with one hand, and fed it the apples with the other.

The reins were in her hand, and the animal ate greedily. Then all at once she burst into tears, and hid her face against its long and beautiful neck.

Together they rode across the wide and wild moors, past stark mountain ridges, and lochs many thousand feet deep. All beneath a warming sun and mild, caressing wind. They spoke quietly or not at all, taking in the broad magnificence around them, each thinking their own thoughts, alone, and yet in the deepest sense, together.

At least that is how the girl perceived their long ride through Nature. For her it was poetry and roses, a spiritual as well as physical reunion with the brother she had never known, and who so obviously needed her love and softening influence. And to one so young, knowing so little of men, it was easy to imagine that a sort of romantic friends.h.i.+p was also possible, had in fact already been established, and that all of this was understood between them.

Having been so long without the company of men, and in her life being close to only one---a man of exceptional virtue and character---she could not help but think the best of her new-found brother, and to believe, with her heart rather than her mind, that whatever injustices he may have committed, were over and in the past. Further, she reasoned, the world had need of such aggressive leaders: men who got things done.

She could not know that in following this naive and wishful train of thought she was making a cla.s.sic mistake, indeed, the same mistake her mother had made before her. She was yielding to a woman's instinctive attraction and submission to raw strength, which clouds the conscience, and hampers honest judgment.

Michael had been strong and good; Stephen was merely strong. She was too young, and too needful, to see the difference.

So riding back with the setting sun, feeling fatigued but at the same time warm and secure in his presence, it did not seem out of place for her to rest her head on his shoulder and let her arms, which were wrapped about his waist for support, squeeze him affectionately. And if she felt inclined to add, ”Thank you, Stephen, I feel wonderful,”

where was the harm?

And as they reached the steep and narrow final pa.s.sage, his actions seemed to confirm all the n.o.ble, underlying qualities which she had begun to read into his character. Sensing that his horse was tired he dismounted, and taking hold of the bridle, led it the rest of the way on foot, displaying both a firm, sure tread, and surprising physical stamina. Of his virility, had she known the word, there could be no question.

When they reached the hut, the sky seemed to hover in a peaceful and many-hued twilight. Everything around them was hushed and still, with no light showing from within. Stephen reached up to help her dismount, and as her feet lightly touched ground, took her in his arms.

Her eyes looked up at him searchingly, his face so close to hers. Then he was kissing her, and before she could turn away she felt his right hand glide across her ribs.

She tried to pull away, but he only brought her body more firmly against his. And she felt a part of herself yield as they kissed again, her lips parting expectantly. Once more she felt the hand kneading toward her breast.

But as it touched, and she felt the growing insistence of his movements she came back to herself, and with a shock realized what she was doing, and with whom.

”No!” she gasped, trying to break free. Still he held her, but she persisted. ”It's not right.”

At last he released her. With this action he too seemed to remember himself, and to refrain,

though his reasons were vastly different.

”I'm sorry,” he said simply. ”I'm afraid you quite carry me away.” She gazed back at him, his features half hidden in the gloom, trying to understand the source and meaning of his words. It was impossible.

”Oh,” she said in despair. ”I didn't want it to end like this.

Couldn't you just embrace me, as you would a friend, and say good-night?”

”As a friend ?” So sharp and demanding was his voice, his whole bearing, that she found herself saying, quite against her will:

”Please, just give me a little more time. I'm not ready.....”

And these words, like so many other innocent acts, seemed to achieve an end of their own, altogether separate from what she had intended.

Stephen was strangely soothed, and gratified, as if hearing exactly what he wanted to. She felt, as much as saw him smile. He came to her, and embraced her gently.

”Oh, Mary,” he whispered, as he kissed her cheek. ”Thank you for this.

Thank you for not giving in. I've been waiting all my life for a feeling, like this.” And he kissed her again with heart-breaking softness.

Then he stepped away and swiftly mounted. ”I'll be back three days hence. We will ride again, and make our love in the fields.” And he rode off, leaving her bewildered and unable to reply.

And all at once the last light of day was gone. The breeze which had seemed so gentle, now fled before the cold and chilling airs of Night.