the Bay, and therefore kept aloof from the train of vehicles, scampering up by-lanes, leaping any fence where a gap afforded a tempting passage, or tearing along the road in a breakneck race that usually ended in a harmless tumble.
For some time after quitting Kervaen the road trended somewhat inland, and it was only now and then that, between the gnarled boughs of the orchards, or across the weedy ridges of the fallows, we could catch a glimpse of the sea. But presently we found ourselves skirting the coast line, winding among sand-hills and frequently crossing the narrow bridge that crossed some brooklet on its way to ocean. To the left was the broad sea, to the right were the bare sands, and far away loomed the rock-cradled fort of Mont St. Michel, and the twin islet of Tombelaine, and even Avranches, clinging to and crowning the crest of its steeply scarped hill—but of Hilton we saw nothing. This was the less surprising as, owing to the twists in the road and the many sandy bluffs that stood out between us and the sky-line, our view of the strand was limited to that portion immediately before us.
Emma was excessively agitated, though she did her best to hide her fears, and was perpetually standing up in the carriage to gaze forth over the yellow stretch of sand, dappled already by the flickering shadows of evening. The sun was sinking, and the wind rising. The white clouds overhead had grown thicker and darker, growing like the web of the Parcæ, till they covered the whole sky. I felt uncomfortable, and the more so because, for Emma’s sake, I felt it necessary to keep a cheerful countenance, but I began to recognise the signs of an approaching gale. The wind, as the old fisherman had remarked, was westerly, and it came every minute in stronger and angrier gusts, sweeping the dead leaves from the trees, and making a melancholy sighing among the sedges and tamarisks of the lonely shore. I looked out to sea, and even at that distance I fancied I could see the dark blue line of the advancing tide gaining, still gaining, on the shore, and rushing on, swift and smooth, over the level strand where neither rock nor shingle barred its way.
“Where can Harry be? I don’t see him. O, George, your eyes are better than mine!” said Emma, trembling, as she stood up for the tenth time to strain her gaze across the yellow flats.
“I see nothing,” answered I. “Stop, there is something in the distance, a dark object, but it cannot be a man and horse, it is so small, and so near the water, where no sane person would venture, with the tide coming in at such a rate. Some sea-bird, driven in by the storm.”
“Then there is going to be a storm?” asked Emma, with such white lips, and such evident distress, that I could have bitten off my tongue for my lack of caution.
She was very pale; the hectic bloom on her cheeks came and went, and her eyes were strangely brilliant. In her delicate state of health, all agitation was hurtful, and I groaned inwardly at Hilton’s mad prank, though I did my best to put a good face on the matter. I laughed at the idea of any apprehension from the storm, whether of peril to Harry or ourselves, and spoke confidently of the adventurous horseman’s safety. I expressed myself sure that he had already reached Avranches, and would have the laugh on his side when we came in, with wet clothes, after a drive through the rain. In fact, I played my part admirably, in my own opinion, but I could not deceive a woman’s quick instinct, and my sister laid her hand on my arm with
“Hush, George, pray. You frighten me, dear, for I see that you are afraid for him. Oh, it is all my fault; I should have begged him, urged him to stay with us, and if he, if he should”
Just then the eldest of the English schoolboys, who had raced past us some little time before with his noisy crew of young comrades, came tearing back with his pony in a lather of foam and heat.
“O, Captain Lethbridge,” said the boy, “we have seen a gentleman on horseback trying to escape from the sea, and I’m sure it’s Mr. Hilton, and the poor horse seems so tired, and the tide’s coming in dreadfully fast, like a millrace.”
I tried to stop the boy. It was of no use. The words were spoken, and Emma gave a scream so piercing and heart-broken in its agonised accents, that it haunts me to this hour, and will haunt me to my dying day. Lashing the vigorous little nag into a gallop, in an instant I gained the point whence our young informant had come, and there I sprang out, and assisted Emma to scramble up a steep ridge of sand that overlooked the whole of the desolate flat, now terribly encroached on by the advancing tide. A few drops of rain fell, and the wind whistled shrilly by, and the sea-gulls and gannets flew hoarsely screaming around, and fluttered off inland on their white wings. The muttering growl of distant thunder resounded, but we cared nothing for rain or thunder. Our eyes were riveted on a horseman who was making his way, slowly and painfully, through deep and moist sand in which his weary steed sank fetlock deep at every bound.
Hilton! There was no mistaking him; but how came he there, and how had he lingered so long among those dangerous wastes? No doubt he had missed the safe way, hardly to be found, even by natives of the country, and had wandered long among the treacherous quagmires and pools of sullen waters, for I could see that his noble horse flagged wearily, and that there were stains of mud and sand upon his heaving flanks, as if he had floundered through more than one of the lises, as they are locally called. The sea was behind him, swift and pitiless, like a low wall of dark blue water, crested with foam, and seeming to devour the shore as it swept onwards. Worse still, the coming tide was “quickening” the sands as it advanced, for we saw pools appear where dry banks had lately been, and the surface heaved and glistened, and the horse had to make desperate efforts to advance shorewards.
I shouted loudly, to encourage the poor fellow, but the wind drowned my voice; and now the thunder rolled, and the lightning flashed redly over the sea, and it seemed suddenly to grow dark, while torrents of rain came dashing down;