easily come upon a party too strong for them; and no one could tell what might happen, thought the princess.  There was that pitchy darkness through which she could hardly see her horse’s head—­a thing of itself that seemed to have infinite powers for mischief, and which no amount of argument ever induced any normally constituted woman to believe was the mere negative absence of light, and not a terrible entity potent for all sorts of mischief.  Then that wailing howl that rose and fell betimes; no wind ever made such a noise she felt sure.  There were those shining white gleams which came from the little pools of water on the road, looking like dead men’s faces upturned and pale; perhaps they were water and perhaps they were not.  Mary had all confidence in Brandon, but that very fact operated against her.  Having that confidence and trust in him, she felt no need to waste her own energy in being brave; so she relaxed completely, and had the feminine satisfaction of allowing herself to be thoroughly frightened.

Is it any wonder Mary’s gallant but womanly spirit sank low in the face of all those terrors?  She held out bravely, however, and an occasional clasp from Brandon’s hand under cover of the darkness comforted her.  When all those terrors would not suggest even a thought of turning back, you may judge of the character of this girl and her motive.

They traveled on, galloping when they could, trotting when they could not gallop, and walking when they must.

At one time they thought they heard the sound of following horses, and hastened on as fast as they dared go, until, stopping to listen and hearing nothing, they concluded they were wrong.  About eleven o’clock, however, right out of the black bank of night in front of them they heard, in earnest, the sucking splash of horses’ hoofs.  In an instant the sound ceased and the silence was worse than the noise.  The cry “Hollo!” brought them all to a stand, and Mary thought her time had come.

Both sides shouted, “Who comes there?” to which there was a simultaneous and eager answer, “A friend,” and each party passed its own way, only too glad to be rid of the other.  Mary’s sigh of relief could be heard above even the wind and the owls, and her heart beat as if it had a task to finish within a certain time.

After this they rode on as rapidly as they dared, and about midnight arrived at the inn where the relay of horses was awaiting them.

[Illustration]

The inn was a rambling old thatched-roofed structure, half mud, half wood, and all filth.  There are many inns in England that are tidy enough, but this one was a little off the main road—­selected for that reason—­and the uncleanness was not the least of Mary’s trials that hard night.  She had not tasted food since noon, and felt the keen hunger natural to youth and health such as hers, after twelve hours of fasting and eight hours of riding.  Her appetite soon overcame her repugnance, and she ate, with a zest that was new to her, the humblest fare that had ever passed her lips.  One often misses the zest of life’s joys by having too much of them.  One must want a thing before it can be appreciated.