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"No," said Annis, drawing back sharply; "it wouldn't be right." Afraid he had gone too far, Wilson's cowardice got the better hand again. "What wouldn't?" he asked, with an awkward attempt at innocence. A tiny but ominous sparkle in Miss Gething's eye showed her opinion of this unfairness. "I beg your pardon," he said humbly. "What for?" asked Miss Gething innocently in her turn.
"I shall be in the town the day after on business," said the skipper. "If it wouldn't be troubling you I might look in. Good-bye." He shook hands confusedly, wondering whether he had gone too far; and, as the door closed behind him, put his hands in Captain Gething's pockets and went off in a brown study.
The sparkle came in Miss Gething's eye again, then she bit her lip and turned her head away miserably realizing her inability to treat this transgressor with the severity that he deserved. "This is the first time you have ever said things of this sort to a girl, I should think," she said at last. "Yes," said Wilson simply. "You want practice," said Miss Gething scornfully.
Gething's square brown hand went to his breeches pocket, settled on something that was cold as ice and drew it out the revolver. The horse he had raced so many times at Piping Rock, Brookline, Saratoga had earned the right to die by this hand which had guided him. Cuddy's high-bred face came vividly before his eyes and the white star would be the mark.
A trail ran through the woods; a trail singularly morose and unattractive. The pines looked shabby and black in comparison to the sun on the spring meadows. This was Break-Neck Hill. Perhaps Cuddy felt his rider stiffen in the saddle for he refused passionately to take the path. He set his will against Gething's and fought, bucking and rearing.
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