At length the horse trotted out into the opening, to be hauled up short.

Ellen recognized the buckskin-clad figure, the broad shoulders, the dark face of Jean Isbel.
Ellen felt prey to the strangest quaking sensation she had ever suffered.

It took violence of her new-born spirit to subdue that feeling.
Isbel rode slowly across the clearing toward her.

For Ellen his approach seemed singularly swift--so swift that her surprise, dismay, conjecture, and anger obstructed her will.

The outwardly calm and cold Ellen Jorth was a travesty that mocked her--that she felt he would discern.
The moment Isbel drew close enough for Ellen to see his face she experienced a strong, shuddering repetition of her first shock of recognition.