“It’s a good thing, Phœbe, dear, that you and I have no deadly feud with any one,” she said; and then she patted the mare and praised her, and Phœbe, quickening her pace, broke into a gallop, and took the hill road with long, sweeping strides that soon brought them to the summit.
Fayette began to enjoy the swift motion and a sense of independence and safety in Phœbe’s gentle compliance with her will; but at the hill-top she checked the pace, fearing a stumble down the deeply gullied hill, which was still sending rivulets to the creek. The amiable Phœbe chose to obey, and picked her way, careful both for herself and her rider.
Now rose a new voice on the wind. It was the sound of angry waters, a long roar rising louder from time to time.
“How high the creek must be!” thought Fayette; and as the roar increased, she began to have a sort of fear of the bridge, which she knew must be crossed; but she classed the feeling with her ghostly terrors, and soon found herself drawing near the bridge, the noise of the water almost drowning that of the wind.
As she came to the bank, a heavy cloud came over the moon, involving the whole landscape in sudden and dense blackness; and at that instant Phœbe planted her feet like a rock, and refused to stir an inch.
In vain Fayette coaxed and urged, for she dared not strike, even if she had had a whip. Phœbe was immovable as a horse of bronze; but at last she began to pull at the bridle, as though she meant to turn homeward.
Just then the moon came out, and Fayette, looking eagerly forward, saw, to her horror, that the bridge was gone. A post and rail only remained, and beyond was a chasm where the furious waters had not even left a wreck behind.
Had Phœbe’s senses not been more acute than her own, two steps more would have plunged horse and rider into the flood.
Fayette turned sick, and felt as if she should fall from the saddle. She rallied, however, for she knew she must. Her senses came back in thankfulness to God, and she confessed humbly enough to Phœbe that she had known best; and Phœbe, looking over her shoulder, said, “I told you so,” as plainly as a horse could.
Fayette was at a loss. A mile further up the stream was another and much better bridge than the rickety old plank structure that was missing; but to reach it she must turn back and make a long detour, that would nearly double her journey, while every minute lessened the chances of the sufferer at home.