8. VIII
THE KNIGHT PASSES
A TELEGRAM summoned the Blight
a home next day. Marston was in
bed with a ragged wound in the shoulder,
and I took her to tell him good-by. I left
the room for a few minutes, and when I
came back their hands were unclasping, and
for a Discarded Knight the engineer surely
wore a happy though pallid face.
That afternoon the train on which we
left the Gap was brought to a sudden halt
in Wildcat Valley by a piece of red flannel
tied to the end of a stick that was
planted midway the track. Across the
track, farther on, lay a heavy piece of
timber, and it was plain that somebody
meant that, just at that place, the train
must stop. The Blight and I were seated
on the rear platform and the Blight was
taking a last look at her beloved hills.
When the train started again, there was
a cracking of twigs overhead and a
shower of rhododendron leaves and
flowers dropped from the air at the feet
of the Blight. And when we pulled away
from the high-walled cut we saw, motionless
on a little mound, a black horse,
and on him, motionless, the Knight of the
Cumberland, the helmet on his head (that
the Blight might know who he was, no
doubt), and both hands clasping the
broken handle of his spear, which rested
across the pommel of his saddle. Impulsively
the Blight waved her hand to him
and I could not help waving my hat; but
he sat like a statue and, like a statue, sat
on, simply looking after us as we were
hurried along, until horse, broken shaft,
and shoulders sank out of sight. And thus
passed the Knight of the Cumberland with
the last gleam that struck his helmet,
spear-like, from the slanting sun.
THE END
