He watched her lithe, nymph-like figure disappear in the checkered shadows of the wood, and then he turned briskly down the half-hidden trail.

His eyesight was keen, he made good progress, and was soon well on his way toward the distant ridge.
But Flip's return had not been as rapid.

When she reached the wood she crept to its beetling verge, and looking across the canon watched Lance's figure as it vanished and reappeared in the shadows and sinuosities of the ascent.

When he reached the ridge the outlying fog crept across the summit, caught him in its embrace, and wrapped him from her gaze.

Flip sighed, raised herself, put her alternate foot on a stump, and took a long pull at her too-brief stockings.