In the stillness every
sound could be heard--the rush of footsteps down the stairs, the fierce
commands, the creaking of the great stable door in the rear of the house.
"They are getting out the horses," she whispered.
"Yes," he replied, calmly. "He thought we were running away." There was not
a tremor in his voice. She was reared in a society where physical bravery
is the first of virtues, and even in that terrible moment she could not
help feeling a thrill of pride as she looked at him.
She never thought of asking him to fly. She could hear the horses as they
were led out of their stalls one by one, their hoofs echoing sharply on the
stone flagging. Her excited imagination supplied all the details. Now they
were putting on the bridles; now they were fastening the saddles; they were
mounted; the gate was being opened; in another moment they would sweep down
on them. Then she looked at her lover standing there so motionless,
waiting--for what? The thought of it was maddening.
"Quick! quick!" she cried, wildly, catching his arm; "I will go with you."
Without a word he lifted her up in his arms and seated her on one of the
horses.
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