But this was not apparent to the audience. To them it seemed that the
baby must have been there all the time.
Van Reypen sat breathless, watching the screen with rapt attention.
He thought little of the baby's danger, knowing the methods of making
pictures, but he was lost in admiration of Azalea, her fine athletic
figure, and her free, strong motions, as she battled with the winds and
triumphantly snatched the baby from harm.
Then, the child in one arm, she flung herself again on the pony's back,
the animal prancing wildly, but tractable beneath Azalea's determined
guidance, and they were off like the wind itself to a place of safety.
The wild ride was picturesque, if frightful, and there was a burst of
applause from the spectators, as Azalea, panting, exhausted, but safe,
at last reached her goal, and leaning down from the horse, placed the
baby in the arms of its weeping, distracted mother.
Azalea's beauty was of the sort that needs excitement or physical
exertion to bring out its best effects and as she stood beside the
quivering, spent horse, her own heart beating quickly, her own breath
coming hard, she was a picture of vivid beauty.
Her dress was disordered, her hair hung in loosened coils, her collar
was half torn off by the wind, but the happy smile and the justifiable
pride in her success lighted up her countenance till it was fairly
radiant.
"By cricky, you're stunning!" exclaimed Phil, under his breath, as he
grasped her hand in congratulation.
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