"No; I want you to take
her and keep her--keep her until she dies, and then bury her in the
corner of some quiet field. You're honest, and will do it if you say you
will; and here's gold to pay you well for your trouble. She's done her
work, and the last few days have finished her. She had to help me save a
woman in the West Country, and it's broken her."
"I'll do it," said the farmer. "And you'll be wanting another horse?"
"Not yet. When I do you shall hear from me. Will you take the mare
to-night? If I looked at her again I do not think I could let her go."
"Aye, it's like that with horses, we know," said the sympathetic farmer.
"I'll take her to-night."
The landlord went to the stables with him, and when he returned found
the highwayman standing in deep thought before the fire.
"I'm tired, friend. Is there a hole I can sleep in until daylight?"
"Of course."
"I must start at daybreak."
"What! Without a horse?"
"Yes, and without this," he said, taking off his brown mask, showing the
landlord his features for the first time. "To-night 'Galloping Hermit'
ceases to exist."
He kicked the dying embers into a blaze, and dropped the mask into the
fire.
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