Oh! could his rider but know who was coming after!—could she but hear me!
I would have called, but the distance was still too great. She could not have heard even my shouts; how then distinguish my voice?
I galloped on in silence. I was gaining—constantly and rapidly gaining. Surely I was drawing nearer? or were my eyes playing false under the light of the moon?
I fancied that the steed was running heavily—slowly and heavily—as if he was labouring in the race. I fancied—no, it was no fancy—I was sure of it! Beyond a doubt, he was not going at his swiftest speed!
What could it mean? Was he broken by fatigue?
Still nearer and nearer I came, until scarcely three hundred yards appeared between us. My shout might now be heard; my voice—
I called aloud; I called the name of my betrothed, coupling it with my own; but no answer came back—no sign of recognition to cheer me.
The ground that lay between us favoured a race-course speed; and I was about putting my horse to his full stretch, when, to my astonishment, I saw the white steed stagger forward, and fall headlong to the earth!
It did not check my career; and in a few seconds more I was upon the spot, and halting over horse and rider, still prostrate.
I flung myself from the saddle just as Isolina disengaged herself, and rose to her feet. With her right hand clasping the red knife, she stood confronting me.