LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXII, Issue 1875, 26 February 1880, Page 3

LITERATURE.

THE SILVER HORSE-SHOE. (Concluded.) | Like a shade that had come and gone, as a strange apparition might do, the tall figure, with the shabby shawl gathered snood like over its head, had glided away among the trees, and I was left alone to think. Time—precious time—was passing by. I had—how long to reach the mills ? Scarce an hour.

How should I go ? By which of the two roads would John come ? I stood out on the green velvety lawn, where of an evening he smoked his cigar while I stood by. I remembered this as I stood there, and had to crnsh back a cry that rose to my lips. Just at that moment, once more a low, soft whinny came from ‘ Lassie’s ’ stable. Then I knew.

The groom was crossing the yard, and speaking measuredly, as one in great haste. I told him to saddle the little mare. ‘I am going to ride to meet your master ; you need not come with me.’

Then I turned hastily towards the house, fearing some expression of suprise upon the man’s part. I remembered what Lizzie had said : ' Let no one know my errand.’ To fly rather than walk to my bedroom, to equip myself in my riding-dress, in so short a time that it was a wonder that mortal fingers conld achieve the task, and then, just for one moment, to steal to my darling’s little bed; not to weep, tears weaken at such a time, but just to kiss the cheek flushed in sleep, and lying in such sweet repose upon the tiny open palm. ‘ Oh, baby ! ’ I said, bowing my heal upon my hands as I knelt. * I am going to save him—for you and for me ! ’ And I sobbed, though my eyes were dry. Who, watching a sleeping infant, has not seen that sudden, ineffable smile that, like a sunbeam playing on the petals of a flower, parts the sweet milk-hedewed lips, and passes swiftly as it came ? I choose to take that smile as a good omen ; I choose to think Heaven’s angel, in my hour of need, stood by me, and the closed violets of my darling’s eyes eyes saw the ministering presence, I heard the clatter of ‘Lassie’s ’ hoofs upon the stones of the yard. I stayed one fleeting instant at the nursery door and then down the pretty porch, one spring to the saddle.

Oh, it did not take long, and we were on our way—on our way upon the journey that meant life or death if the worst befel.

I dared not hurry much at first ; I knew that the hedges had eyes and the trees ears. How they [sighed above my head as the evening wind swayed them gently. I clinched my hand on the handle of my riding-whip ; I set my teeth hard ; I fought for patience. Every moment was a “ jewel of great price,” and yet I dare not hurry. Not yet. Once the horrible gloom of the thick wood past, and then the terrible choice between the two roads would be before me.

My heart beat so thick and fast I scarcely could draw my breath ; and just ss we were near the thickest part of the brush and trees, something stirred, while “Lassie” gave a sudden start, then a bound. * Steady, steady, little one,’ I said, speaking out lond, ‘it is but a poor silly sheep that has strayed into the wood.’ ‘‘Lassie” trembled, as I could feel; but she stepped on quietly enough, and—Heaven knows where a woman’s strength comes from at sneh times—l let the reins drop loosely on her shining neck, and sang to myself as I went along. The ears that listened could not think a | woman rode a race of life and death for the »»ke of the man she loved; conld they I

We had reached the fork of the two roads. The dark shadow of the wood lay behind ns. A touch, and the mare stood still. * Which, which ? O my Qod ! help me ! guide!’ I prayed. Then I let the rein drop on “ Lassie a neck, closed my eyes, and gently urged her on. She took the way that lay to the left. The choice was made.

Maddening thoughts throbbed in _my brain. Was John, even now, as “ Lassie’s ” willing hoofs rang out on the hard road, coming along the almost parallel route, each step of his trusty steed leading him nearer death ? Or had some blessed chance delayed him ? Should I find him at the mill ? Would heaven be so merciful as that to me ? Three miles! three miles ! Did ever the road, gleaming palely white before me in the gathering dusk, seem so long before ? The night, like a soft curtain, was falling upon the world ; I saw a single star glimmering above—the robin sang no more. We were in the open country ; we passed no more dwellings where lights twinkled through the trees, and seemed to speak of human companionship and happy homes. Alone in the twilight two solitary figures—my little mare and I. ‘On, “lassie,” on 1’ I cried to her. ‘Faster, faster.’

I saw the smoky canopy that overhung the town, though now—ominous sign—it was less dense than its wont. I could have cried aloud for joy. * Lassie I Laatie ! make good speed, little mare, we have not an instant to spare!’ The road seemed to rush along beneath us. * Quicker, quicker! make good speed ! make good speed, little mare I’ I touched her flanks lightly with mv whip ; she tossed her pretty head, flung off the white foam that had gathered on her bridle, and sprang forward with added life and spirit.

'Lassie! dear Lassie!’ bonnie Lassie I’ see the tall chimneys are in sight; we are getting near him now, Lassie ; we shall save him yet!’ I know not what wiid words I uttered in my mad excitement; hitherto I had managed to keep the curb upon my terror and my pain; hut now, as the goal of my desires was nearly reached, I could have tossed my arms aloft; I could have shrieked out to the night; I could have been guilty of any mad thing. At the entrance to the town I draw rein, and Lassie and I tried to look as quiet and respectable as we could, as we passed through the narrow streets, where men stood about in little groups, and women, with poor starved little children clinging to their petticoats, stared at me and my panting steed. The great gates that led to the millyard were closed.

How strange a contrast to when they stood widely opened, and a swarm of men, like bees out of a hive, came pouting through them, while the great bell, that meant “work is over,” clanged out its welcome message.

A man looked through a grating, and not without some curt expression of amaze. * Has the master gone V I asked, in a voice that did not sound like mine.

1 Noa, my lady,’ he answered in the north country tongue. Once inside the yard I stepped from my saddle, and left Lassie standing there panting and foam-flecked. Gathering my habit in my hand I went up the steps Into the cold white-washed passages, and so on to a room I knew well—John’s room.

He was writing at a table, and the flaring gas above his head showed me his face, grave and anxious, change to a look of uttermost surprise as he saw his wife standing in the doorway. Perhaps the moment of relief is more trying than the suffering we have waded through to reach it—l cannot tell; but I know that as I met my husband’s eyes —as 1 saw John there before me -as I realised the mighty truth that he was saved, I gave a great cry, and fell down without sense or life at his feet.

These things happened a long time ago. People have almost forgotten the year of the great strike ; I have not. Baby is a grown giant now, a head taller than his mother ; and owns a sister whose inches reach well-nigh to his stalwart shoulder. John still smokes upon the lawn of a summer’s evening, while I sit by ; but I tell him he is growing fat and lazy. At which he laughs, and says he shall soon turn Otway mills over to his son altogether. Our mother rests now from all earthly sorrow, and her memory is like a beautiful presence among us. On the table in my own sitting-room is a little hoof, shod in a silver shoe. The relic is kept under a glass shads, and I always dust it with my own hands. lam sure yon will know without my telling you that it is held dear for the sake of ‘Lassie,’ the little mare. You will divine that it is one of those willing feet that carried me to Otway mills through the dusk of a memorable day to save a life dearer than my own. That dear life cost another, for poor Lizzie left her baby motherless, and I had to fulfil my promise. Weakened with fever, and her recent trial, the strain of that errand of love that she set out upon to warn me of her husband’s plot against mine, proved too much for her feeble frame.

I kept my oath sacredly, and no one, save John and I, ever knew that Jim’s wife, with a noble disloyalty, ‘ spoke up agen her mon.’