‘For Bradstane! Eh, what! but ye’re mony a mile out o’ t’ straight rooad,’ was the reply, which struck dismay into her hearer.
On further investigation, however, it turned out to be not so bad as had seemed at first. They must keep straight on for half a mile till they came to the Balder Beck, which they would have to ford, and then they would be in the right road, and five miles away from Bradstane.
‘Straight along, do we go? and is the beck deep?’ asked Eleanor, thinking of the darkness.
‘Straight down this lane. Deep?—nay, you needna be afeard—not a little bit, you needna. It’s no a bad ford;—a bit swollen with th’ rains just now, but safe enough. I’d show you th’ way, only my child’s ill, and I canna lave it. But you cannot go wrong. And th’ doctor’s not been gone five minutes. Happen you may light on him in th’ lane, and then, if you’re in doubt, you might ask him. He kens all th’ rooads rarely,—both them that’s bad and them that’s good.’
‘Thank you,’ said Eleanor, not deriving so much comfort from this suggestion as the woman seemed to think would be natural; for during her short residence in Bradstane she had not been left ignorant of the relations between Michael Langstroth, his brother, her brother, and Magdalen Wynter. The version of the story given to her by the latter had been supplemented by revised ones, explained and annotated in a very different spirit. Eleanor felt that, taken all in all, she would prefer not to overtake Dr. Langstroth.
It was not, however, very likely that they would do so, for he would probably ride on quickly, being, as the woman said, well acquainted with all the roads; whereas they had to go very slowly, being ignorant of them, and the dark fast falling.
She wished the woman good-night, and rode on. Presently they came in sight of the ford, or, at any rate, of the beck which they had to ford at this juncture. It was rushing along, brown, noisy, and swollen, and Eleanor, though a hardy horsewoman, drew back a little as she saw it. Which, and where might be the ford? Whether to venture across, or to return all the dreary way they had ridden—ten miles or more? As she paused, debating, her eyes strained through the dusk on the other side; she almost hoped, now, that she might see a figure; but there was nothing except some gaunt trees, and as for sounds, the rattle of the beck drowned them all in the noise it made.
Tired of reflecting, and noticing a broad mark, as if wheels had here entered the stream, and a corresponding one on the other side, showing that they had safely emerged from it, Eleanor put her horse at the water, telling William to wait till she was across. The boy was not old enough, nor possessed of sufficient self-confidence, to make the lady pause till he had tried the ford himself; he felt unhappy, but did as he was told. She found herself in a moment in the midst of the roar and the darkness. About the middle of the stream, her horse displayed an evident desire to diverge to the right hand, down-stream. Eleanor, seeing the cart-tracks faintly on the other side, a little to the left, and bewildered with the rush and the noise and the swirl of the waters, became somewhat confused, and persisted in pushing the animal’s head up-stream. In a moment her horse plunged into a hole, so deeply that she felt the water washing round her own knees. She gave an involuntary short cry, and heard a loud despairing—
‘Oh, Lord, miss, what shall I do?’
The tragic utterance restored her to herself. She gave her horse his head, and he, after another wild plunge or two, and a desperate, scraping scramble, succeeded in pulling himself up and taking his own way; went first a little to the right, and then a little to the left, and emerged in the cart-track.