mine, I do not even know whether she had a human soul.’
‘Eve! What do you mean?’
‘I have read and heard tell of such things. She may have been a wood-spirit, an elf-maid. Whoever she was, whatever she was, my father loved her. He loves her still. I can see that. He seems to me to have her ever in his thoughts.’
‘Yes,’ said Barbara sadly, ‘he never visits my mother’s grave; I alone care for the flowers there.’
‘I can look into his heart,’ said Eve. ‘He loves me so dearly because he loved my mother dearer still.’
Barbara made no remark to this.
Then Eve, in her changeful mood, went back to the former topic of conversation.
‘Think, think, Bab! of Black Copplestone riding nightly over these wastes on his black mare, with her tail streaming behind, and the little page standing on the crupper, stabbing, stabbing, stabbing; and the Whish Hounds behind, giving tongue, and Squire Cloberry in the rear urging them on with his horn. O Bab! I am sure father believes in this, I should die of fear were Copplestone hunted by dogs to pass this way. Hold! Hark!’ she almost screamed.
The wind was behind them; they heard a call, then the tramp of horses’ feet.
Barbara even was for the moment startled, and drew the gig aside, off the road upon the common. A black cloud had rolled over the sickle of the moon, and obscured its feeble light. Eve could neither move nor speak. She quaked at Barbara’s side like an aspen.
In another moment dark figures of men and horses were visible, advancing at full gallop along the road. The dull cob the sisters were driving plunged, backed, and was filled with panic. Then the moon shone out, and a faint, ghastly light fell on the road, and they could see the black figures sweeping along. There were two horses, one some way ahead of the other, and two riders, the first with slouched hat. But what was that crouched on the crupper, clinging to the first rider?
As he swept past, Eve distinguished the imp-like form of a boy. That wholly unnerved her. She uttered a piercing shriek, and clasped her hands over her eyes.
The first horse had passed, the second was abreast of the girls when that cry rang out. The horse plunged, and in a moment horse and rider crashed down, and appeared to dissolve into the ground.
CHAPTER IV.
EVE’S RING.
Some moments elapsed before Barbara recovered her surprise, then she spoke a word of encouragement to Eve, who was in an ecstasy of terror, and tried to disengage herself from her arms, and master the frightened horse sufficiently to allow her to descend. A thorn tree tortured by the winds stood solitary at a little distance, at a mound which indicated the presence of a former embankment. Barbara brought the cob and gig to it, there descended, and fastened the horse to the tree. Then she helped her sister out of the vehicle.
‘Do not be alarmed, Eve. There is nothing here supernatural to dismay you, only a pair of farmers who have been drinking, and one has tumbled off his horse. We must see that he has not broken his neck.’ But Eve clung to her in frantic terror, and would not allow her to disengage herself. In the meantime, by the sickle moon, now sailing clear of the clouds, they could see that the first rider had reined in his horse and turned.
‘Jasper!’ he called, ‘what is the matter?’
No answer came. He rode back to the spot where the second horse had fallen, and dismounted.
‘What has happened?’ screamed the boy. ‘I must get down also.’
The man who had dismounted pointed to the white stone and said, ‘Hold the horse and stay there till you are wanted. I must see what cursed mischance has befallen Jasper.’
Eve was somewhat reassured at the sound of human voices, and she allowed Barbara to release herself, and advance into the road.
‘Who are you?’ asked the horseman.
‘Only a girl. Can I help? Is the man hurt?’
‘Hurt, of course. He hasn’t fallen into a feather bed, or—by good luck—into a furze brake.’
The horse that had fallen struggled to rise.
‘Out of the way,’ said the man, ‘I must see that the brute does not trample on him.’ He helped the horse to his feet; the animal was much shaken and trembled.
‘Hold the bridle, girl.’ Barbara obeyed. Then the man went to his fallen comrade and spoke to him, but received no answer. He raised his arms, and tried if any bones were broken, then he put his hand to the heart. ‘Give the boy the bridle, and come here, you girl. Help me to loosen his neck-cloth. Is there water near?’
‘None; we are at the highest point of the moor.’
‘Damn it! There is water everywhere in over-abundance in this country, except where it is wanted.’
‘He is alive,’ said Barbara, kneeling and raising the head of the prostrate, insensible man. ‘He is stunned, but he breathes.’
‘Jasper!’ shouted the man who was unhurt, ‘for God’s sake, wake up. You know I can’t remain here all night.’
No response.
‘This is desperate. I must press forward. Fatalities always occur when most inconvenient. I was born to ill-luck. No help, no refuge near.’
‘I am by as help; my home not far distant,’ said Barbara, ‘for a refuge.’
‘O yes—you! What sort of help is that? Your house! I can’t diverge five miles out of my road for that.’
‘We live not half an hour from this point.’
‘O yes—half an hour multiplied by ten. You women don’t know how to calculate distances, or give a decent direction.’
‘The blood is flowing from his head,’ said Barbara: ‘it is cut. He has fallen on a stone.’
‘What the devil is to be done? I cannot stay.’
‘Sir,’ said Barbara, ‘of course you stay by your comrade. Do you think to leave him half dead at night to the custody of two girls, strangers, on a moor?’
‘You don’t understand,’ answered the man; ‘I cannot and I will not stay.’ He put his hand to his head. ‘How far to your home?’
‘I have told you, half-an-hour.’
‘Honour bright—no more?’
‘I said, half-an-hour.’
‘Good God, Watt! always a fool?’ He turned sharply towards the lad who was seated on the stone. The boy had unslung a violin from his back, taken it from its case, had placed it under his chin, and drawn the bow across the strings.
‘Have
