Here the sun's rays could scarce penetrate; the path became rough and
slippery; a hidden stream oozed up between loose stones.
Icon picked his way, with care; yet even so, he slipped, recovered, and
slipped again.
With a sudden rush, some wild animal, huge and heavy, went crashing
through the undergrowth.
Stealthy footsteps seemed to keep pace with Icon's, high up among the
tree trunks.
Yet this valley of the shadow held no terrors for the woman whose heart
was now so blissfully at rest.
Having left behind forever the dark vale of doubt and indecision, she
mounted triumphant on the wings of trust and certainty.
"I ride to my husband," she whispered, as if the words were a charm
which might bring the sense of his strong arms about her, "and I choose
to ride alone."
With a gentle caress on the arch of his snowy neck, and with soft words
in the anxiously pointing ears, she encouraged the palfrey to go
forward.
At length they rounded a great grey rock jutting out into the path, and
the upward slope of a mossy glade came into view.
With a whinny of pleasure, Icon laid back his ears and broke into a
swift canter.
Up the glade they flew; out into the sunshine; clear into the open.
Here was the moor! Here the highroad, at last! And there in the
distance, the grey walls of Hugh's castle; the portals of home.
* * * * * *
It was the Knight's trusted foster-brother, Martin Goodfellow, amazed,
yet smiling a glad welcome, who held Icon's bridle as Mora dismounted
in the courtyard.
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