"How funnily you say that! No, he's just rode away. I watched him from
the light-house windows. He can't be gone far yet."
"Look here, Joey—can you run?"
"Yes, if you hold my hand; only you mustn't go too fast. Oh, you're
hurting!"
Taffy took the child in his arms, and with the wind at his back, went
up the hill with long stride. "There he is!" cried Joey as they gained
the ridge; and he pointed; and Taffy, looking along the ridge, saw a
speck of scarlet moving against the lead-colored moors—half a mile away
perhaps, or a little more. He sat the child down, for the cottages were
close by. "Run home, sonny. I'm going to have a look at the soldier,
too."
The first bad squall broke on the headland just as Taffy started to
run. It was as if a bag of water had burst right overhead, and within
quarter of a minute he was drenched to the skin. So fiercely it went
howling inland along the ridge that he half-expected to see the horse
urged into a gallop before it. But the rider, now standing high for a
moment against the sky-line, went plodding on. For a while horse and
rider disappeared over the rise; but Taffy guessed that on hitting
the cross-path beyond, they would strike away to the left and descend
toward Langona Creek; and he began to slant his course to the left in
anticipation. The tide, he knew, would be running in strong; and with
this wind behind it he hoped—and caught himself praying—that it would be
high enough to cover the wooden footbridge and make the ford impassable;
and if so, the horseman would be delayed and forced to head back and
fetch a circuit farther up the valley.
By this time the squalls were coming fast on each other's heels and the
strength of them flung him forward at each stride. He had lost his hat,
and the rain poured down his back and squished in his boots. But all he
felt was the hate in his heart. It had gathered there little by little
for three years and a half, pent up, fed by his silent thoughts as a
reservoir by small mountain-streams; and with so tranquil a surface that
at times—poor youth!—he had honestly believed it reflected God's calm,
had been proud of his magnanimity, and said "forgive us our trespasses,
as we forgive them that trespass against us." Now as he ran he prayed
to the same God to delay the traitor at the ford.
Dusk was falling when George, yet unaware of pursuit, turned down the
sunken lane which ended beside the ford. And by the shore, when the
small waves lapped against his mare's fore-feet, he heard Taffy's shout
for the first time and turned in his saddle. Even so it was a second
or two before he recognized the figure which came plunging down the low
cliff on his left, avoiding a fall only by wild clutches at the swaying
alder boughs.
"Hello!" he shouted, cheerfully. "Looks nasty, doesn't it?"
Taffy came down the beach, near enough to see that the mare's legs were
plastered with mud, and to look up into his enemy's face.
"Get down," he panted.
"Hey?"
"Get down, I tell you. Come off your horse, and put up your fists."
"What the devil is the matter? Hello!... Keep off, I tell you! Are you
mad?"
"Come off and fight."
"By God, I'll break your head in if you don't let go.... You idiot!"—as
the mare plunged and tore the stirrup-leather from Taffy's grip—"She'll
brain you, if you fool round her heels like that!"
"Come off, then."
"Very well." George backed a little, swung himself out of the saddle
and faced him on the beach. "Now perhaps you'll explain."
"You've come from the headland?"
"Well?"
"From Lizzie Pezzack's."
"Well, and what then?"
"Only this, that so sure as you've a wife at home, if you come to the
headland again, I'll kill you; and if you're a man, you'll put up your
fists now."
"Oh, that's it? May I ask what you have to do with my wife, or with
Lizzie Pezzack?"
"Whose child is Lizzie's?"
"Not yours, is it?"
"You said so once; you told your wife so; liar that you were."
"Very good, my gentleman. You shall have what you want. Woa, mare!" He
led her up the beach and sought for a branch to tie his reins to. The
mare hung back, terrified by the swishing of the whipped boughs and the
roar of the gale overhead; her hoofs, as George dragged her forward,
scuffled with the loose-lying stones on the beach. After a minute he
desisted and turned on Taffy again.
"Look here; before we have this out there's one thing I'd like to know.
When you were at Oxford, was Honoria maintaining you there?"
"If you must know—yes."
"And when—when this happened, she stopped the supplies."
"Yes."
"Well, then, I didn't know it. She never told me."
"She never told _me_."
"You don't say——"
"I do. I never knew it until too late."
"Well, now, I'm going to fight you. I don't swallow being called a liar.
But I tell you this first, that I'm damned sorry. I never guessed that
it injured your prospects."
At another time, in another mood, Taffy might have remembered that
George was George, and heir to Sir Harry's nature. As it was, the
apology threw oil on the flame.
"You cur! Do you think it was _that_? And _you_ are Honoria's husband!"
He advanced with an ugly laugh. "For the last time, put up your fists."
They had been standing within two yards of each other; and even so,
shouted at the pitch of their voices to make themselves heard above the
gale. As Taffy took a step forward George lifted his whip. His left hand
held the bridle on which the reluctant mare was dragging, and the action
was merely instinctive, to guard against sudden attack.
But as he did so his face and uplifted arm were suddenly painted clear
against the darkness. The mare plunged more wildly than ever. Taffy
dropped his hands and swung round. Behind him, behind the black contour
of the hill, the whole sky welled up a pale blue light which gathered
brightness while he stared.
The very stones on the beach at his feet shone separate and distinct.
"What is it?" George gasped.
"A ship on the rocks! Quick, man! Will the mare reach to Innis?"
"She'll have to." George wheeled her round. She was fagged out with two
long gallops after hounds that day, but for the moment sheer terror made
her lively enough.
"Ride, then! Call up the coast-guard. By the flare she must be somewhere
off the creek here. Ride!"
A clatter of hoofs answered him as the mare pounded up the lane.