There he stood calling hastily for a drink; and
her heart more than her eyes took in his, to her, consecrated
signalment--the riding-boots, short clothes, blue coat, cocked hat,
ruffles. She crept up behind to surprise him, her face, with its
delight and smiles, beyond her control. She crept, until she saw his
watch-fob dangling against the counter, and then her heart made a
call. He turned. He was not her husband! Another man was in her
husband's clothes, a man with a villainous countenance! With a scream
she gave the alarm. The stranger turned, dropped his drink, bounded to
the door and out, leaped to the back of Beetle, gave rein and spur,
and the black horse made good his reputation. In a second all was
hue-and-cry and pursuit. While men and horses made, for all they were
worth, down the road after Beetle, she on Maid Marion galloped for
her life in the opposite direction, the direction of the court town
whither her husband had journeyed. The mare's hide made acquaintance
with the whip that day if never before, for not even the willing Maid
Marion could keep pace with the apprehensions on her back.
Scouring with her eyes the highway ahead of her, shooting hawk's
glances into the forest on each side of her, the wife rode through
the distance all, all day, praying that the day might be long enough,
might equal the distance.
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