Rotha thought of her betrothal to Willy, and then a cold chill passed over her.
She walked on until she came under the shadow of the trees beneath which Angus Ray had met his death. There she paused and looked down. She could almost conjure up the hour of the finding of the body.
At that moment the dog was snuffling at the very spot. Here it was that she herself had slipped; here that Ralph had caught her in his arms; here, again, that he had drawn her forward; here that they had heard noises from the court beyond.
Stop—what noise was that! It was the whinny of a horse! They had heard that too. Her dream of the past and the present reality were jumbling themselves together.
Again? No, no; that was the neigh—the real neigh—of a horse. Rotha hastened forward. The dog had run on. A minute later Laddie was barking furiously. Rotha reached the courtyard.
There stood the old mare, exactly as before!
Was it a dream? Had she gone mad? Rotha ran and caught the bridle.
Yes, yes! It was a reality. It was Betsy!
There was no coffin on her back; the straps that had bound it now dangled to the ground.
But it was the mare herself, and no dream.