“Good bye, Lucille,” I whispered, to the rain and darkness.
And then, though I had said good bye to love, I felt a lighter heart than I had known for many a long day.
Kit’s muscles moved like steel bands, as she went galloping along the road to Boston, for thither had I guided her unconsciously. The sweet smell of the newly watered earth came up to my nostrils, and I breathed long and deep of the fresh night air. Kit’s hoofs beat a soft slushing tattoo on the muddy road.
The rain fell gently.
“Good bye, Lucille,” I whispered. A raindrop fell upon my lips, and it seemed as if she had kissed me in the night.
CHAPTER XVII.
THE NEWS NANETTE BROUGHT ME.
Through the night I rode, until the darkness began to pale, and the dawn was heralded. Now and then, when the labored breathing of Kit told me the pace was too heavy for her, I pulled up a bit. We passed by silent cottages scattered over the country, here one alone, there several near together.
I galloped until morning was fairly upon the land. Then I drew rein at a white farmhouse, where I dismounted to get a bite to eat, and feed Kit. The farmer looked at my mud-soiled clothes, at the mare’s rough coat, and said:
“You’ve ridden far and hard, the night, neighbor.”
“Aye,” I answered, “there was some need of it.”