The thing bounded across their path, a dim, shapeless, momentary flash of grey on its irresponsible journey from nowhere to nowhere, and the startled beast planted his forefeet and would have turned but for Heber’s strong hand and the grip of his knees. As she felt the swerve, Catherine threw her arms round the rider with a sob of terror and clung to him with her face buried in his shoulder.
Then it was as if madness had entered into Black Heber with her clasp and the close pressure of her cheek; and the mountain air that blew on his forehead stung him with its associations of freedom, and space, and action. He gave a shout that rang against the slopes and sent the horse forward at a gallop.
They rushed on through the night; in the starlight the animal took his way safely along the smooth turf. There was no obstacle and no rough ground in the whole of the stretch before them. Wild exultation filled Heber, and his right arm was wound round the slight creature, who was as a child in his hold. As long as they galloped thus, so long, he knew, she would cling to him; there was room in his mind for nothing but the insane desire to race on for ever with the hill air smiting his face and her arms about him. No, indeed, Saunders should not have her! He laughed aloud to think of his discovery in the morning.
It was well enough for him to laugh, and gallop, and exult, and to give free play to the spirit of madness that the events of the night had awakened in his wild heart, but Catherine was almost fainting. She had lost all power of speech and could only strain her trembling body convulsively to him; her breath was coming in sobs, stifled by the contact of his coat. At every moment she thought to be dashed into the night-stricken void through which they were rushing. The wind of their pace tore at her hair and was cold on her neck. The echoes of their flying hoof-beats were flung back from the hill.
They raced on. They were nearing the end of the mountain when Heber pulled up and she ventured to raise her head and turn her cramped limbs. She was shaking all over. “Put me down,” she entreated; but she could scarcely finish her sentence for the kisses with which he was covering her lips, her cheeks, the loosened hair upon her brow. Saunders had never kissed her like that. She dared not struggle, for the last half-mile had worn her out and she was afraid of falling; she could only pray to be allowed to walk.
He set her upon the ground at last, and dismounted beside her. It was some time before he could persuade her that she must go forward if she did not want to spend the night upon the hills. She was completely unnerved, and when she finally suffered him to put her in the saddle he led the horse on, walking at its head. She sat with her knee crooked on the saddle-tree, her white face drooping with fatigue; two great plaits of hair were falling to her waist.
The appalling complications that life can weave round its victims had never been brought home to her so forcibly before: she was too tired and frightened even to think of the end of this crazy journey or of what would be its results; she was adrift and cut off from every one but the wild man who walked in front with his hand on the bridle. Her back ached and she was bewildered and cold.
They plodded on till they had left the hill behind and were on the road. Two o’clock was striking from the tower of Talgwynne church as they entered the little town, and the sound rang over the empty street. Heber stopped at a door in a by-lane, and bidding Catherine remain on horseback, he flung a handful of small stones against an upper window. The casement was opened with some caution and a head was thrust out. Catherine started as she heard a woman speak.
“It’s me,” said Heber; “let me in.”
Before he had ended his request the head was withdrawn, and in a few minutes the door opened like a yawning mouth in the whitewashed wall. The woman ran back for a light. Black Heber lifted Catherine from the saddle, and she followed him in.