Ellerton Grange was near Uttoxeter, and Uttoxeter
was a sizeable townlet just inside my own county, and some fifteen miles
from Ashbourne. The road was the usual cross-road, all of it bad and most
of it vile. I left the going to Sultan, who did the best he could, like
the gallant and experienced creature he was. There was nothing for me to
do except to keep a good look out and the north star just behind my right
hand.
My mind was busy going over all the memories of the last three days. I
tried hard, but in vain, to skip the black part, the thought of which made
me flinch as if the branding-iron was white-hot against my cheek. Mentally
I saw double--Jack's red blood with one eye and Margaret's amber hair with
the other. As I rode I fought memory with memory, mingling gall and honey,
now mumbling broken prayers and now singing snatches of country
love-songs, and so got on as best I could. In the journey of life a man
pays for what he calls for. Life had given me what I wanted, and the price
thereof had been death.
Not only was the night dark but the countryside was empty. I rode past
dim outlines of houses and through vague, dreamlike villages without
seeing a soul or hearing a sound.
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