Felise sighed, and then frowned; she could not understand it. She was in the full view of everyone who entered the valley; she might have been seen from the opposite side. Certainly their acquaintance was slight; still, he would hardly pass her like that.
He had not, in fact, seen her at all, intent on his gallop, on his horse, and especially upon his own thoughts. But to this circumstance the circular shape of the grassy circus contributed; for it is a curious fact that anyone standing on the side of a round cavity, or inside a round building, may be overlooked.
Suppose a circular room; stand close to the wall, and if a person glance casually in at the door, he will very likely fail to see anyone there. Though she was now full in the glowing morning sunlight, he did not see her; his mind was deeply engaged, and the retina is not so sensitive at such moments. He was riding fast to ride down his own thoughts.
As he came round to the spot where the rude track went over the hill to the right, Felise’s breath came slow again, lest he should turn and go along the wagon-road, which she knew would have led him home. He did not—he came on; and for the second time passed her, unconscious of her presence. The nearer he came the higher grew the colour in her face and on her neck; as the strong horse took him away, so the colour faded. When the sunlight suddenly breaks forth from a cloud, how instantly the flowers bloom afresh!—so the quick rosy flush lit up her delicate neck instantly, but it sank back slowly.
In passing the group of trees he was so close that the expression of his face was visible. His forehead was a little contracted with a frown; the line it caused was not deep, so that he appeared more hesitating than angry. He was undecided; he was seeking decision from the unhesitating stride of his horse.
Comparatively his face was small for his height; he was not all face, as we see some men, whose countenances seem to descend to the last button of their waistcoats. His head was in just proportion, the summit and finish of his shape, as a capital of a column. His hair had a shade like the gold of Felise’s, yet not in the least like hers, for his was deeper, browner, as if the sun had burnt it, as it had his cheek. Had it not been cropped so close, his hair would have curled; in the days of Charles II such hair would have been of priceless value to a cavalier, curled locks flowing to the shoulder.
In outline his countenance was somewhat oval, his features fine—a straight nose and chin well marked, but not heavy. He had a short beard, and his head showed the more to advantage, because he had a good neck, not too thick. His eyes were blue, and framed in firmly-drawn eyebrows and long lashes. Though well built, he was slender rather than stout; his hands were brown, but not large.
The features indicated a temperament almost too sensitive, feelings too delicate for the roughness of life, which still has to be sustained by the rude plough and by labour in all weathers, as in the days of our most remote ancestors.
He rode without a saddle, only a bridle. The horse was a large bay, almost large enough for a weight-carrying hunter; a handsome creature whose flanks might have been polished like fine wood, they shone so. Round spots on the skin were less dark than the adjacent surface—a dappling or graining which varied in hue as the animal turned, and the light was reflected at a different angle.
The third time he came round to the wagon-track he drew rein, as if about to change his course, and walked his horse. Felise impatiently moved her foot, and the dreamy expression in her eyes gave way to one of annoyance. But he went by the wagon-track, and continued along the circus, still at a walking-pace. This time, as he approached the beeches, he saw her.
VI
She knew he did, although no alteration was perceptible in his manner. Watching him so narrowly, she felt that he had seen her, yet there was no visible change. Eyes that love have a way of seeing more than is understood by scientific people, though they may analyze light with the spectrum and the polariscope, and all the other appliances together.
At the beeches he rode slowly up towards her. All at once he turned again, and began to descend the hill away from her; then, as suddenly, slipped off his horse to his feet, and walked towards her up the slope.
“Good morning!”
He did not offer his hand; their previous acquaintance was extremely slight. She held out hers, and he took it.
“Can I direct you?” he said, a little awkwardly.
“Oh, I know the way!”
“I did not know; I thought—”
“I came up to see the sunrise,” she said, explaining; “but I was too late.”
“It is a beautiful morning,” said he.
No very brilliant conversation yet; as a matter of fact, people who are tête-à-tête for the first time in their lives do not talk brilliantly. Much, however, may be conveyed by tone and manner.
He did not look at her more than courtesy demanded: he looked at the sward, at the tree, anywhere but at her; yet his nature was truthful.
She looked straight in his face; she did not disguise her wistful glance. If he could only have let himself gaze into her eyes! But he would not. Her right hand moved restlessly; she almost put it on his shoulder.
They were both bareheaded. She held her hat in her left hand; he had taken off his when he saluted, and had not replaced it. The
