Slipping from the saddle, therefore, I soothed the frightened animal as best I could, and glanced keenly around me. I was in a deeper depression than any I had as yet traversed—a circular, cup-shaped hollow, its sides sloping some quarter of a mile to the ridge above. In front of me stretched the path, to right and left of it patches of bogland, its black surface covered with slime and green water-weed.
Stay, was it the path? I bent and gazed fixedly at the track before me, then, unbuckling my sword, I slowly advanced, probing the ground in front of me. At the sixth step my sword encountered no resistance. I drew back with a shudder, and, despite the heat of the day, a cold chill ran down my back. Again I tested the spot with my sword. The green mass quivered at my touch, but there was no solid ground, and in a moment the truth flashed upon me.
The bog upon the right, which stretched some distance up the slope, had slipped, undermining the path, which at a casual glance still retained its ordinary appearance by reason of the green entangled weed floating upon its stagnant surface.
Never had Nature cunningly concealed a man-trap more treacherous. But for my horse’s sagacity I should have been—pah! the very thought of sinking slowly beneath the noisome ooze made me shudder. I turned away, and taking the bridle rein in my hand, I skirted round the smaller patch of bogland on the left and regained the track beyond.
Arrived there, however, I did not at once ride forward. On the contrary, I retraced my steps to the brink of the bog, for I was minded to see how far the pathway was undermined. To the spot where I had stood before upon the opposite side was, as near as I could judge, some fifteen feet. I cast about for some means of warning travellers of their danger; but there was nothing but the bare hillside around me, and with a shrug I turned away. After all, what concern was it of mine? Resolving, however, for the future to take to the ridges and to avoid the low-lying ground, I remounted my horse and headed straight for the top of the hollow, some quarter of a mile distant. I had all but reached the summit of the slope when a dull sound struck upon my ear—the regular thud, thud of a horse’s hoofs and of a horse ridden at speed.
I drew rein in idle curiosity as to who the rider might be in such an unfrequented spot. Nearer and nearer came the sound behind me, and a minute or so later the horse and its rider flashed into sight.
It was my lady herself!
My lady mounted on the chestnut mare that I had so admired. And in a moment I understood. The green track that had nearly proved fatal to me led to the mansion I had seen from the summit of Cleevesborough, the smooth turf forming a more pleasant bridle path to the village than the dusty road.
Along this pathway my lady was sweeping at full gallop, was sweeping to the death that lurked below! And I hated her!
But even as the thought came to me I gathered up the reins, drove in my spurs, and in a moment I was thundering down the slope. Even now, though years have lapsed, how the memory of that ride comes back to me!