Her walking-skirt
gave free play to her limbs; she was far past the well-known "line in
the road" before she paused to take a full breath and to recapitulate.
Her heart beat faster and the sudden glow in her cheek was not from
the exercise. Somehow, out there alone in the world, the most amazing
feeling of tenderness sped on ahead to Randolph Shaw. She tried to
put it from her, but it grew and grew. Then she blushed deep within
herself and her eyes grew sweet with the memory of those stolen,
reprehensible hours along the frontier. Something within her breast
cried out for those shining, gone-by moments, something seemed to
close down on her throat, something flooded her eyes with a softness
that rolled up from her entire being. Their line! Their insurmountable
barrier! An absurd yet ineffable longing to fall down and kiss that
line came over her with compelling force.
Her head grew light with the thought of those moments when their
horses stood with muzzles together as if kissing by proxy--the flush
grew deeper, though her blood went cold and she trembled.
A pitiful confusion seized her, an inexplicable timidity crept into
her heart, replacing the bold assurance that had been recklessly
carrying her on to him. It was as though some one had whispered the
truth into her ear and she was beginning to believe.
From that moment her courage began to fail. The glow from her lantern
was a menace instead of a help. A sweet timorousness enveloped her and
something tingled--she knew not what.
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