Through the gloom as through the moonlight, under the
drooping boughs of the dark pine forest, as across the lonely
tracts of bare, waste ground—the furious animal, driven
pitilessly by his rider's spur, fled on.

Clouds of foam flew from his reeking jaws, his glossy

[figure description] Page 308.[end figure description]

coat became as wet as though he had just issued from a
river; still he went on, his speed unabated.

The trees flew by—the moon came out and flooded the
flying animal and his burden with its chill light, then swept
beneath the clouds again; the cold wind moaned and sobbed,—
still on!

The silent cavalier only drew his hat further over his
eyes, clasped the young girl's waist more securely, wrapped
more carefully in the thick cloak the tender body, which
shuddered with cold in its thin dress.

That shudder passed over his own person, too, as if they
were but one—had all feelings in common—but the horseman
betrayed no other evidences of emotion, of life.

Once, his dark fiery eyes, glowing like coals, under his
slouched hat, met her own; once his warm breath, almost
his kiss, touched her cheek; but he did not kiss the cheek.
It was only to see if her arm was rubbed against the pistols
in his girdle, or the hilt of his sword.

Still on! The blast blew chiller, the wind seemed to
sob, and moan, and laugh in cruel glee at her; the stars
soaring out, looked at her with their pitiless and sorrowfully
twinkling eyes, then were obscured again—still on!

She seemed still to be in a dream; the whole affair had
occurred so suddenly, that the young girl could scarcely
collect her senses. When she attempted to reason calmly,
the dreadful position she occupied deadened her brain, and
her mind wandered. Was this not all a mere dream still?
Could it be real? Was it not the mere fancy of her excited
and agitated mind? Could she not wake from such a horrible
nightmare, and sit up?

As the thought passed through her mind, she felt the
arm around her waist cling tighter, and suddenly the animal
reared, made a desperate leap, fell upon his knees, sprung
up again, trembling, and fled onward faster than before.
She looked back, and saw a stream, with high banks; the
current, of great width, glittered in the moon. It was a
desperate leap, even for a phantom.

But she began now to collect her thoughts; and suddenly
finding her voice, said, in trembling and agitated tones:
“You frighten me! you hurt me! Is this a dream or a
dreadful reality? You are killing me!”

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The cavalier made no reply. Beatrice burst into tears,
and struggled to release herself from his arms—those arms
only held her tighter. She said, moaning, that her position
hurt her; the cavalier dropped the bridle on his horse's neck,
and with both arms raised her, laid her, so to speak, on his
breast; and thus carrying her, like a child, again plunged
his spurs into the quivering sides of the flying animal, and
fled faster.

The ocean breeze grew colder, the odor of water began
to fill the wild, wandering air; the night grew darker and
more dismal.

Nothing was heard but the quick smiting of the horse's
hoofs—the far, mournful cry of a whippoorwill, and the low
sighing of the wind through the solemn pines, under whose
boughs the animal passed, like some phantom steed of the
German mythology.

She shrunk as the boughs bent down toward her—for
they seemed to be gigantic hands of fiends, stretched out
to grasp and carry her away; she sobbed, and wept, and
entreated, but in vain—still on!

The flying animal issued from the forest, and entered
upon a wild waste, from which the James River was visible
in the distance, glittering like a silver mirror in the fitful
moonlight.

As the young girl caught the flash of the far waters, she
suddenly felt the animal arrested by an obstacle, which
threw him to one side; a loud voice came to her ears—a
voice which sent a thrill through her brain—the cavalier
only wrapped her closer in his cloak, and with a muttered
curse, fled on. The animal seemed to scent the water, to
know that it was his bourne, and with incredible speed
darted on, and disappeared in a hollow, thick with pines.

That obstacle which had arrested the animal, was the
body of a man; and this man had grasped the bridle, been
rolled on the ground by the chest of the flying horse, and then
rising, seen the whole disappear like a phantom. It was
Charles Waters, and spite of the cloak, the disguise, he had
recognized Beatrice and Mr. Effingham.

For a moment the young man stood motionless in the
moonlight, overwhelmed with horror; then clenching his
hands, he fled after them with the rapidity of a race-horse.

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He now felt the advantage of his country training—his
days and nights spent in hunting; his speed was scarcely
less than that of the flying horse.

As he fled onward, a thousand mad thoughts passed
through his mind; curses were on his lips, fire was in his
heart.

He blessed God for that strange feeling he had experienced
all day, that Beatrice was in danger—a feeling which
had accompanied him in sleep, had waked him while night
still lay upon the earth: which had driven him forth toward
the town—which had led him there to rescue her!

But could he? That animal was going faster than any
mortal man could. He would be too late!

Whither were they flying?

That sail-boat he had seen coming up the river, on the
day before!

He clenched his hands, and his eyes glared. Still he
sped on.

Yes! that was the base scheme of that coward! Yes!
he had kidknapped a defenceless girl! She was in his
power!

A flame seemed to pass before his eyes; he felt his
brain totter: no matter—on!

The river suddenly burst upon his view:—he ran on
with staggering steps, heaving bosom:—he saw figures moving
on the shore in the moonlight, heard the faint neigh of a
horse. He felt the eyes filling with blood—his heart throbbed
with the desperate exertion, like an engine—still on!

The moon shone suddenly on the white sails of a boat,
as she veered round—the water danced in the moon, and
against the silver mirror; he plainly saw the figures of three
men, who carried by main force, some object in their arms
toward the boat.

With fiery eyes, eyes which saw nothing clearly, but
through a flame, it seemed, he still sped on. His strength
was exhausted—he tottered as he ran:—he staggered, still
on!

They reach the boat—they embark—she is gone! He
tore his hair, and uttered a sob of rage and despair.

Suddenly a dark object interposed itself between the
worn-out, exhausted, overwhelmed pursuer, and the bright

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water illuminated by the moon. This object was the hut of
Townes the boatman, and a despairing hope flashed through
his breast.

He staggered toward it—seeing flame—breathing fire, he
thought. A light was burning in the window—a shadow
passed to and fro.

He tottered, gasping, to the door—fell against it—burst
it open—caught the boatman by the shoulder, and said, almost
inarticulately:

“Come!—you must!—I must have!—look there!—they
are carrying her off—Miss Hallam, who sailed in your boat!—
she is my cousin!—mercy!”

And staggering he would have fallen, had not the boatman
caught him in his arms.