Bernardine was tender of heart. She saw that the woman who was groveling
at her feet was suffering mental pain, and she realized that in some
vague way the name Jasper Wilde, which she had just uttered, had
occasioned it.
She forgot her surroundings, forgot the woman had declared it her
intention to detain her there even against her will; she remembered only
that a human being was suffering, and she must aid her if she could.
Suddenly the woman struggled to her feet.
"I did not know who you were talking about until you mentioned _that
name_!" she cried, excitedly and almost incoherently; "for it was _not_
Jasper Wilde who brought you here. It never occurred to me that Jasper
Wilde had a hand in it--that he had anything to do with it. I am Jasper
Wilde's wife, girl, and the story you have told is a revelation to me.
He must have got the other man to bring you here, and he means to fly
with you and desert me! Ha, ha, ha! I always find out everything he
attempts to do in _some_ way!"
"He went off on his horse just as you were brought in. Before he comes,
I will set you free."
"Oh, I thank you more than words can express!" said Bernardine,
fervently.
"You can take the horse and buggy that they always have hitched and
ready for an emergency. If they took you from Gardiner mansion, you will
find it a good hour's drive; but if you start at once you will get there
by sunrise. You may meet some of them on the road; but you seem to be a
brave girl. You have a horse that not one of them could overtake in a
five-mile race, if you lay on the whip. Now go!"
"But you?" cried Bernardine. "I can not go and leave you suffering here.
You are very ill--I see it in your face. You are white as death. Let me
take you to the nearest doctor--there are several hereabouts----"
But the woman shook her head sadly.
"I feel that it is of no use," she whispered, hoarsely. "I feel that I
am doomed--that my hour has come. Your startling news has done it," she
gasped. "Jasper once dealt me a terrible blow over the heart. I--I did
not die then, but my heart has been weak ever since. Go--go, girl, while
the opportunity is yours. You can not escape him, if he returns and
finds you here! Leave me to my fate. It is better so."
As she uttered the last word, she fell back with a dull thud, and
Bernardine saw--ah, she knew--that the patient heart of this poor
creature who had loved faithless, cruel Jasper Wilde to the bitter end
had slowly broken at last.
Reverently covering the white, staring face with her apron, and
breathing a sobbing prayer for her, Bernardine fled from the room.
A faint belt of light over the eastern hills told her that dawn was not
far off.
She found the horse and buggy where the woman had indicated, and with
hands trembling with nervous excitement untied the bridle.
The animal scarcely gave her time to climb into the vehicle, ere he was
off with the speed of the wind through the stubble fields of the old
deserted farm and on to the high-road.
It was all that Bernardine could do to cling to the reins, let alone
attempt to guide the animal, whose speed was increasing perceptibly at
every step he took.
The trees, the wild flowers by the road-side, the dark pines and
mile-posts, seemed to whirl past her, and she realized, with a terrible
quaking of the heart, that the horse was getting beyond her control and
was running away.
The light buggy seemed to fairly spin over the road without touching it.
From a run, the horse had broken into a mad gallop, which the small
white hands clinging to the reins was powerless to stop.
Suddenly from a bend in the road, as she reached it, she saw a horseman
riding leisurely toward her on a chestnut mare which she recognized at
once as belonging to the Gardiner stables. He could not be one of the
grooms, nor could he be one of the guests astir at that hour; still,
there was something familiar in the form of the man advancing toward her
at an easy canter.
He seemed to take in the situation at a glance, and quickly drew back
into the bushes to give the runaway horse full swing in the narrow road.
But as Bernardine advanced at that mad, flying pace, she heard the man
shout:
"My horse, by all that is wonderful! But that isn't Mag in the buggy.
Who in thunder can it be in that wagon, anyhow?"
That loud, harsh voice! No wonder Bernardine's heart almost ceased
beating as she heard it. It was the voice of Jasper Wilde.
Only Heaven's mercy kept her from swooning outright, for she knew Jasper
Wilde would recognize her as soon as he came abreast of her.
This proved to be the case.
"Bernardine Moore!" he shouted, hardly believing he had seen aright.
For one moment of time he was taken so completely by surprise that he
was quite incapable of action, and in that moment Bernardine's horse was
many rods past him.
"Yes, it is Bernardine Moore!" he cried out, excitedly.
He did not ask himself how she happened to be there; he had no time for
that.
Cursing himself for the time he had lost through his astonishment at the
discovery, he wheeled his horse about with so sharp a jerk that it
almost brought the animal upon its haunches; then started in mad pursuit
of the girl, shouting at the top of his voice to Bernardine to saw hard
on both lines, and jerk quickly backward.
To his intense rage, he saw Bernardine take out the whip and lay it on
the back of the runaway horse, and it flashed across his mind what that
meant.
She had seen and recognized him as she flew past him. She knew he was
hurrying after her, and she preferred death rather than that he should
overtake her.
Curses loud and deep broke from his lips. He yelled to her to draw rein;
but she only urged the horse on the faster.
He had searched the world over to find Bernardine Moore, and now that he
had come across her by chance, she should not escape him like this.
A mere chit of a girl should not outwit him in that fashion.
A mad thought occurred to him.
There was but one way of stopping that horse and overtaking Bernardine,
and that was to draw his revolver and shoot the animal dead in its
tracks.
He liked the horse; but nothing on earth should prevent him from
capturing the girl he still loved to desperation.
To think, with him, was to act; and quick as a flash, he drew a weapon
from his hip-pocket, and the loud report of a shot instantly followed.