She could not at first tell whether it was moving towards or from her--whether it was a man or a woman; or, indeed, whether it were not a forest tree encroaching on the road and moving in the wind.

She kept on swiftly, holding her knife under her cloak.

She had stopped singing.
Presently she saw that the figure was a man, and coming her way; and then her heart stood still, for she knew by the swing of his shoulders that it was Burr Gordon.

She threw back her proud head and sped along towards him, grasping her knife under her cloak and looking neither to the right nor left.

She swerved not her eyes a hair's-breadth when she came close to him--so close that their shoulders almost touched in passing in the narrow path.
Suddenly there was a quick sigh in her ear--"Oh, Madelon!" Then an arm was flung around her waist and hot lips were pressed to her own.
The mixed blood of two races, in which action is quick to follow impulse, surged up to Madelon's head.