The Dewy Morn by Richard Jefferies

After Barnard had ridden over the third ridge, uphill and down, at a merciless rate, he checked his speed: first to a trot, then to a walk, and finally halted altogether. Next he turned Ruy's head away from home (a change Ruy did not much like), and slowly retraced the route he had come away from Felise Goring.

But at first not very rapidly. It is the first few steps that are difficult, even in sweet things: hesitation, trembling, indecision accompanies them. Once well started on the flowery path, and the pace constantly accelerates. In ten minutes he was at full gallop back towards her. He had not the least idea what he was going to do -- what excuse he should make for returning -- whether he would go so near as to speak, or what.