CHAPTER XXXII.
ANOTHER STORM WITHIN AND WITHOUT.
—"Let her rave,
And prophesy ten thousand, thousand horrors
I could join with her now, and bid them come;
They fit the present fury of my soul.
The stings of love and rage are fixed within,
And drive me on to madness."—ROWE.
Loathing the sunlight, hating himself, frantic, maddened, Willard Drummond fled from the courthouse, with the terrific words of the judge searing his heart, burning his brain, scathing his memory, ringing in his ears, like the last awful trump of the mighty arch-angel.
Whither he went, what became of him, he cared not, knew not. Driving his spurs into his horse's Hanks, until the maddened beast fairly flew over the ground, he fled on, and on, and on, with heart on fire, his head in a whirl—feeling as though a wheel of flame were crashing through it; knowing, feeling conscious of but one thing, that Sibyl was condemned to die.
And through him—through his fault; that was the thought that whelmed his soul in anguish and despair. All his treachery, all his falsehood, all his duplicity were known to her now; and dying, she would loathe, hate, and despise him. He could have cursed himself; he could have cursed earth, and heaven, and all mankind in that moment, while the tempests of agony, remorse, despair, and anguish were raging in his soul.
And on, still on, he flew, unheeding the passing hours—unheeding whither he went, until his exhausted and panting horse fell helpless beneath him.
That was the first thing that brought him to his senses. He sprang off the back of the foam-covered and trembling animal, and conscious that his headlong speed and frenzied looks must excite distrust and suspicion, he strove to calm himself, and lead his horse to the nearest inn.
He lifted his head to look about him, and found he had nearly reached N——. Assisting his horse to rise he led him slowly toward an unpretending little farm-house that chanced to be near, and knocked loudly at the door.
The summons was answered by a boy, who stared at Willard with a look of blank dismay.
"I have ridden my horse until, as you perceive, he is unable to proceed any farther. Can he remain here for the night?" he asked, abruptly.