had of late been frequent visitors in the village. Presently she
mounted again and rode down the ridge. She would go a mile or so
farther.

Behind every rock and cedar she expected to find Jim. Surely he had
only threatened her. But she had taunted him in a way no man could
stand, and if there were any strength of character in him he would
show it now. Her remorse and dread increased. After all, he was only
a boy--only a couple of years older than she was. Under stress of
feeling he might go to any extreme. Had she misjudged him? If she
had not, she had at least been brutal. But he had dared to kiss her!
Every time she thought of that a tingling, a confusion, a hot shame
went over her. And at length Joan marveled to find that out of the
affront to her pride, and the quarrel, and the fact of his going and
of her following, and especially out of this increasing remorseful
dread, there had flourished up a strange and reluctant respect for
Jim Cleve.

She climbed another ridge and halted again. This time she saw a
horse and rider down in the green. Her heart leaped. It must be Jim
returning. After all, then, he had only threatened. She felt
relieved and glad, yet vaguely sorry. She had been right in her
conviction.

She had not watched long, however, before she saw that this was not
the horse Jim usually rode. She took the precaution then to hide
behind some bushes, and watched from there. When the horseman
approached closer she discerned that instead of Jim it was Harvey
Roberts, a man of the village and a good friend of her uncle's.
Therefore she rode out of her covert and hailed him. It was a