once he had been in
danger of his life, and yet he had had no fear.

He had in him the power of hatred; and he hated Ferrol as he had never
hated anything in his life. He hated him as much as, in a furtive sort
of way, he loved the rebellious, primitive and violent Christine.

As he rode on a hundred fancies passed through his brain, and they all
had to do with killing or torturing. As a boy dreams of magnificent
deeds of prowess, so he dreamed of deeds of violence and cruelty. In
his life he had been secret, not vicious; he had enjoyed the power
which comes from holding the secrets of others, and that had given him
pleasure enough. But now, as if the true passion, the vital principle,
asserted itself at the very last, so with the shadow of death behind
him, his real nature was dominant. He was entirely sane, entirely
natural, only malicious.

The night wore on, and lifted higher into the sky, and the grey dawn
crept slowly up: first a glimmer, then a neutral glow, then a sort of
darkness again, and presently the candid beginning of day.

As they neared the Parish of Bonaventure, Lavilette looked back
again, and saw the little black notary a few hundred yards behind.
He recognised him this time, waved a hand, and then called to his own
fagged horse. Shangois's mare was not fagged; her heart and body were
like steel.

Not a quarter of a mile behind them both were three of the twenty
artillerymen. Lavilette came to the bridge shouting for Baby, the
keeper. Baby recognised him, and ran to the lever even as the sorel
galloped up. For the first time in the ride, Nic stuck spurs harshly
into the sorel's side. With a grunt of pain the horse sprang madly on. A
half-dozen leaps more and they were across, even as the bridge began to
turn; for Baby had not recognised the little black notary, and supposed
him to be one of Nic's pursuers; the others he saw further back in the
road. It was only when Shangois was a third of the way across, that he
knew the mare's rider. There was no time to turn the bridge back, and
there was no time for Shangois to stop the headlong pace of the mare.
She gave a wild whinny of fright, and jumped cornerwise, clear out
across the chasm, towards the moving bridge. Her front feet struck the
timbers, and then, without a cry, mare and rider dropped headlong down
to the river beneath, swollen by the autumn rains.

Baby looked down and saw the mare's head thrust above the water, once,
twice; then ther