Some one had paused at the farther edge of the maple brake and dismounted, as she had, for a more intimate enjoyment of the place.

It was John Armitage, tapping his riding-boot idly with his crop as he leaned against a tree and viewed the miniature valley.
He was a little below her, so that she saw him quite distinctly, and caught a glimpse of his horse pawing, with arched neck, in the bridle-path behind him.

She had no wish to meet him there and turned to steal back to her horse when a movement in the maples below caught her eye.

She paused, fascinated and alarmed by the cautious stir of the undergrowth.

The air was perfectly quiet; the disturbance was not caused by the wind.