 | XX. Edwin Brothertoft |  |
20. XX.
Brothertoft galloped down the hill-side. He
had no whip or spur, but the mare took in his
passion, made it her own, and dashed forward
madly. No winding by comfortable curves for
them! They bore straight for the house.
Three miles from Cedar Ridge, — three miles
to go! and broken country, all hill and gully!
No sane man could gallop it by day. A night
ride there might be the dream of a madman.
There were belts of forest, dense and dark, with
trees standing thick as palisades. There were
ravines crowded with thorny thickets. There
were stony brooks, and dry channels stonier.
There were high walls slanting up the sharp
slopes of the scattered clearings. Down was
steep, and up was steep, and it was all up and
down. But, though darkness trebled the danger,
horse or rider never shrank. They bore
straight on. Three miles to go!
And while they galloped, the rider's thought
galloped. Sometimes it burst out into a cry of
encouragement for his horse; sometimes it was
thus: —
“On, Volante! Straight for that light to the
south! Fires move fast; we must go faster. Only
three miles away, and there she sits bound, — and
the flames coming, — she I once loved, God knows
how faithfully! Gallop, gallop, Volante!
“Bravely! here we are down the ridge!
Now, stretch out over this smooth bit of clearing!
Yes; that black line is a stone wall.
Measure it, Volante! Not four feet! Good
practice for our first leap! Easy now, steady!
Hurrah! Over and a foot to spare! Well done,
horse! And I have been a plodding foot-soldier!
But I can ride still, like a boy, side-saddle or no
saddle. A Brothertoft cannot lose the cavalier.
We shall win.
“What, Volante? Nothing to fear, — that
white strip in the dell! Only a brook. Barely
twelve feet to leap. Never mind the dark and
the bad start! Remember my wife, — she burns,
if we flinch. Now, together! Hurrah! Over,
thank God! Splashed, but safe over and away!
“A clearing again. Shame, Volante! Are
you a ploughman's horse, that you labor so
clumsily in these furrows? See that horrible
glow upon the sky! This wood hides it again.
Idle forest! why was it not burned clean from
the ground a century ago? Everything baffles.
Over, over! Through, through, and now
straight on! Yes; the hill is steep, but we
must gallop down it. No stumbling. What!
another wall, and higher? You shrink! No, —
you must. She shall not burn! Now, God
help us! Down? No; up and off! Hurrah!
“How we have rattled through those two
miles! And here is the road. Easier travelling,
if you can only take that worm fence!
The top bars are sure to be rotten. A fair start,
my good mare, and do your best! Bravely
again! I knew we should crash over. Plain
sailing now! What, limping, flagging, Volante?
Shame! This is a road fit for a lady's summer-evening
canter. Shake out, Volante! Let me
see your stride! Show your Lincolnshire blood!
The winner in this race win's Life, — Life, do you
hear? Wake up there, you farmers! Turn out
and help! Fire at Brothertoft Manor. Fire!
“Faster, faster! Are we too late? Never!
I see the glow brighten against the sky; but the
night is still as death; fire will move slow.
We shall see at the turn of the road. Faster
now! She must not burn, sitting there, where I
saw her by the dear fireside of the years gone
by, — sitting bound, and the flames snarling.
Ah! I so loved her! I so trusted her! We
were young. Life was so beautiful! God was
wound me, and more cruelly wound her own
soul. But I have forgiven her. O, let me save
her, if only to speak peace and pardon! She
shall not burn. A dozen strides, and we can see
the house. Perhaps this great light is the stables.
No, — everything! Fire everywhere. Too
late! too late! Never! I can burn. She shall
not.”
And they galloped up the lawn.
| XX. Edwin Brothertoft | |