hind us into the bushes right and left.
Farther behind I heard the scrambling of many hoofs, but whether of the
tub-carriers or the troopers' horses it was not for me to guess. The
mare knew, however, for as the slope grew easier, she whinnied and
slackened her pace to give them time to come up. This also gave me a
chance to shift my seat a bit, for the edges of the kegs were nipping my
calves cruelly. The beach below us was like the wicked place in a
priest's sermon--black as pitch and full of cursing--and by this time
all alive with lanterns; but they showed us nothing. There was no more
firing, though, and I saw no lights out at sea, so I hoped my father had
managed to push off and make for the lugger.

We were now on a grassy down at the head of the cliff, and my mare,
after starting again at a canter which rattled me abominably, passed
into an easy gallop. I declare that except for my fears--and now, as
the chill of the wind bit me, I began to be horribly afraid--it was like
swinging in a hammock to the pitch of a weatherly ship. I was not in
dread of falling, either; for her heels fell so lightly on the turf that
they persuaded all fear of broken bones out of the thought of falling;
but I _was_ in desperate dread of those thundering tub-carriers just
behind, who seemed to come down like a black racing wave right on top of
us, and to miss us again and again by a foot or less. The _weight_ of
them on this wide, empty down--that was the nightmare we seemed to be
running from.

We passed through an open gate, then another; then out upon hard road
for half-a-mile or so (but I can tell you nothing of the actual distance
or the pace), and then through a third gate. All the gates stood open;
had been left so on purpose, of course; and the grey granite side-posts
were my only mile-stones throughout the journey. Every mortal thing was
strange as mortal thing could be. Here I was, in a foreign land I had
never seen in my life, and could not see now; on horseback for the first
time in my life; and going the dickens knew whither, at the dickens knew
what pace; in much certain and more possible danger; alone, and without
speech to explain myself when--as I supposed must happen sooner or
later--my runaway fate should shoot me among human folk. And overhead--
this seemed the oddest thing of all--shone the very same stars that were
used to look in at my bedroom window over Roscoff quay. My mother had
told me once tha