The next morning, quite early, she was off for a canter. Some magnetic
force drew her toward that obliterated line in the roadway. Almost as
she came up to it and stopped, Randolph Shaw rode down the hillside
through the trees and drew rein directly opposite, the noses of their
horses almost touching. With a smile he gave the military salute even
as she gasped in self-conscious dismay.
"On duty, Miss Drake. No trespassing," he said. There was a glad ring
in his voice. "Please don't run away. You're on the safe side."
"I'm not going to run," she said, her cheek flushing. "How do you know
where the line is? It has been destroyed by the ravages of time."
"Yes. It has seemed a year. This thing of acting sentinel so
religiously is a bit wearing." His great, friendly dog came across the
line, however, and looked bravely up into the enemy's face, wagging
his tail. "Traitor! Come back, Bonaparte," cried his master.
"What a beautiful dog," she cried, sincere admiration in her eyes. "I
love a big dog. He is your best friend, I'll wager.'
"'Love me, love my dog,' is my motto."
The conversation was not prolonged. Penelope began to find herself on
rather friendly terms with the enemy. Confusion came over her when
she remembered that she was behaving in a most unmaidenly manner.
Doubtless that was why she brought the meeting to a close by galloping
away.
The ways of fortune are strange, look at them from any point of view.
Surprising as it may seem, a like encounter happened on the following
day and--aye, on the day after and every day for a week or more.
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