Christie rode up to him, suddenly uttered a cry, and halted.

For before her, sunburnt in cheek and throat, darker in the free growth of moustache and curling hair, clad in the coarse, picturesque finery of his class, undisguised only in his boyish beauty, sat George Kearney.
The blood, that had forsaken her astonished face, rushed as quickly back.

His eyes, which had suddenly sparkled with an electrical glow, sank before hers.

His hand dropped, and his cheek flushed with a dark embarrassment.
"You here, Mr.Kearney?
How strange!--but how glad I am to meet you again!" She tried to smile; her voice trembled, and her little hand shook as she extended it to him.
He raised his dark eyes quickly, and impulsively urged his horse to her side.

But, as if suddenly awakening to the reality of the situation, he glanced at her hurriedly, down at his barbaric finery, and threw a searching look towards her escort.
In an instant Christie saw the infelicity of her position, and its dangers.