32. CHAPTER XXXII.
THE DEAD GO FAST.
Behind the spectre father Von Horn came on wrathfully.
His metal was completely aroused, and he determined
that the comedy should end definitely then, if not
there.
He therefore spurred Burt to his topmost speed, and
thus kept up with the fugitive if he did not gain ground.
They ran thus for nearly two miles, the ghost doubling
and winding in the numerous cross roads, endeavoring
without success to throw his pursuer off the scent. It
was all in vain. Father Von Horn followed him by the
noise of his steps, and the occasional moonlight, without
difficulty. By one of those numerous doubles in the road
the ghost—either advisedly, or from not perceiving the
bearing of surrounding objects, which was very natural in
one so agitated—bore down again upon Martinsburg.
Behind him his pursuer rode as swiftly. Through the
fitful moonlight, over hills, down rocky descents, up rugged
ascents, into Queen-street, toward the bridge, they
came revealed to view only by the occasional lightning
flashes, breaking with the roar of thunder. Behind,
father Von Horn with streaming hair, swinging lantern,
and rattling sabre, bore on like a tornado.
Before, another sight was seen. There was the ghost
wrapped in his sheet, clinging like a vice to his horse's
mane, or rather neck, for he was lying on the animal
with one arm round his neck, ever and anon casting
affrighted glances behind at his pursuer. They looked—
horse and horseman—like one of those singular figures
which Retzsch delighted to outline for the German ballads.
Suddenly a terrific roar was heard, louder than wind,
thunder, or torrent. The bridge had given way with a
crash, and horrible to relate, the ghost and father Von
Horn, before they could check their horses, were precipitated
into the raging current.
The spectre horseman and his steed sunk, then rose
again. Looming above the waves like a rising sun, father
Von Horn tried to save his horse, but poor Burt seemed
to have gone down, and a gigantic surge swept over the
glimmering lantern. Within two yards of the shore the
ghost redoubled his exertions, and soon the mare raised
her forelegs, and clinging to the bank like a dog, emerged
from the water. A large wave behind them suddenly
took the form of a man and horse, the old German rose
from the wave, and by a desperate effort followed. Both
then, pursuer and pursued, swept on, the white mare
turning into the German quarter.
The race had been close, but the spectre of Courtlandt
the Tall might even then have achieved his escape, at the
pace he was going, and so returned quietly to lie down in
his tomb, but for an unfortunate accident. Just when
their speed had begun once more to mend, and when they
had reached the open space before father Von Horn's door,
the mare stumbled in the darkness, rolled her rider on the
ground, and frightened at the quick gathering lights and
faces, disappeared like a spectre steed, leaving the spectre
jockey to his fate.
The whole household ran out—father Von Horn drew
near, and in the midst of all the ghost rose, and throwing
the sheet on the ground, looked with a mixture of phlegm
and defiance on the crowd. The ghost was no other than
Mr. Hans Huddleshingle.
“Sir,” said father Von Horn gravely, “you have done
a most unworthy thing. It is neither graceful or becoming
for one so well descended as yourself, to thus trifle
with the traditions of an honest family. Go, sir, you are
sufficiently punished; there is no enmity between us!”
And giving Burt to a servant, father Von Horn turned
his back on Mr. Huddleshingle, who returned homeward,
devoured with rage, mortification, and despair.
Nina threw her arms round her father's neck, and joyfully
kissed him.
“Did I not tell you so, father,” she cried, “I knew
that odious man was the person, yesterday; I was almost
certain, at least, for he heard us talking about the Red
Book and grandfather.”
“You were right, my daughter,” said the old man,
panting with his violent ride, “now the marriage may
take place, I hope, in peace.”
And they all entered the house.
