The highwayman checked his horse to a walking pace when he came to this
dip, and went slowly down, and slowly climbed the opposite ascent. He
patted the mare's neck, and spoke to her in whispers.
"Well done, my beauty! Unless all the fates are against us we have got
in front of the coach. The glory is yours. I know no other that could
have carried me as you have done to-night. We shall win, lass, and then
you shall take life easier."
The mare seemed to understand as she climbed out of the hollow and
appeared ready to gallop on again; but her rider drew her on the
greensward beside the road, just beyond the wood, and dismounted. He had
no doubt that the coach was behind him. He had come by short cuts across
country, along bridle-paths which shortened the journey. He had not
struck the road long before he met the traveller going towards
Dorchester who said that no coach had passed him. He leaned against the
trunk of a tree, which years ago had been struck and killed by
lightning, and his thoughts were busy as he looked to the priming of his
pistols and made sure that certain papers he carried were secure in a
leathern case, which he slipped back into the pocket of his ample, caped
coat.
Pages:
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400
401
402
403
404
405
406
407
408