When she had reached the corner of the rambling, ill-paved street, she touched her horse.

The animal responded.

She broke into a gentle canter, which made the little children cease their play and stare.

In the forest she applied the spurs, and beneath the whispering trees, over the silent sand, the girl galloped home as fast as her horse could lay legs to the ground.
Jocelyn Gordon was one of those women who rise slowly to the occasion, and the limit of their power seems at times to be only defined by the greatness of the need..