again the mischievous maid had been too quick for him, and he beheld her
already mounted on one of the coach horses, where she sat demurely and
at ease awaiting him. Geoffrey seized the bridle and walked slowly down
the bank, taking great care of his own steps lest he should by slipping
cause the horse to stumble, and in a few seconds they were slowly
picking their way over the rough ice. The horse's hoofs crunched into
the snow, and Betty held her breath, and a little thrill went over her
as she fancied she heard the ice crack under them.

"Oh!"--a half-involuntary cry escaped her, and Geoffrey looked up
reassuringly as he stroked the horse's neck and checked him for a brief
second. Mrs. Seymour and the trooper were somewhat in advance and had
almost reached the opposite shore.

"I--you--that is"--faltered Betty, meekly dropping her eyelids--"Oh,
sir, do you really think we shall gain the Inn safely?"

"There is no cause for fear," said Geoffrey coldly. "I know the path;"
and he plodded on in silence. Another few rods, a slip, a half halt; but
this time it was Yorke who stumbled and fell on one knee.

"Confound my sword," he cried, recovering his feet. "But we are nearly
there. See, Mrs. Seymour has gained the road and is riding on to the
Inn."

No reply from Betty; in truth, if he had but known it, she dared not
trust her voice lest its first sound should be a sob. And Yorke, divided
between amusement and wrath at her perversity, vowed he would say no
more until she grew less capricious.