à terre the whole way. Had I made up my
mind to that?

"To anything," I said, "but that first fifty
miles, how shall I cover them?"

"Have no fears," said M. Barbou, "you
know Jacquot? Well, Jacquot's father has
a fleet mare that will run till she drops—
a noble beast, also a light market-cart.
Jacquot's father will let you have his
market-cart, and drive you himself, if I
ask it. He will land you at Saint Marsan
before midnight, I lay my life on it."

Within ten minutes from that time the
fleet mare and light cart were at the door
of the Golden Monkey, and I was shaking
M. Barbou by the hand. The boors were
standing about, staring stupidly, as only
came natural to them. Then, with hearty
bon voyage, chorussed by Monsieur Barbou,
the landlord, and little Jacquot, and with one
last stare of bewilderment from the boors, the
fast mare was given her head, and shot away
clear of the little street like a flash of fire.

It might have been then close upon six
o'clock of the darkest night I had known
there; and, as the last light from the village
disappeared in the distance, the fleet mare
turned sharply aside from the high road and
became lost in rough, unpaved, country
crossroads, which Jacquot's father knew by heart.
He had no words to throw away. Gradually
the fleet mare warmed to the work, and seemed
at last to fly rather than run; taking us at one
even pace up steep hills and down steep hills;
along clay roads and lanes where roads had
never been; down gullies, across trenches
and rushing brooks; through mist and fog.
Only at times, when sweeping round a
corner, the fleet mare and light cart would
reel unsteadily, soon, however, to right
themselves again. By-and-by, on the other
side of a thick wood, I caught sounds
of low roarings, as from wild beasts.
"Inundation," said Jacquot's father curtly,
turning the fleet mare's head towards the
right; of which disaster we presently met
further tokens in the shape of a great flood
crossing the road, causing the mare to stop
short, rearing on her haunches. But
Jacquot's father, with wild yells and imprecations,
fell to lashing the fleet mare's flanks,
bending over and working at the head-reins
like one possessed, and so forced her, kicking
and splashing through the great flood. Once,
also, the light cart was tilted up on a big
stone, and was toppling over, when Jacquot's
father sprang across me, and the next instant
was hanging at the mare's head.

At last, towards a quarter past eleven,
after five hours or so of this headlong speed,
Jacquot's father pointed with his whip to a
dim light upon a hill. I began to find my
heart lightening wonderfully. British home
and Little Constancy did not seem hopeless
after all; for yonder is Saint Marsan, that
other posting village which the fleet mare
was bound to reach before midnight.

The fleet mare had done her task; and by
this time, no doubt, the malle-poste was
drawn up at the door, waiting to change
horses, and bear me forward. Suddenly a
voice called to us out of the darkness, seeking
to know if we are going on beyond the
village, for that the river had swelled up the
night before, burst its banks, doing grievous
damage, and carrying away the new bridge,
scarcely leaving a pier standing, so that we
had only to turn back by the way we came.
Another crushing blow. If it had been some
unholy errand, I might have taken these as so
many signs that Heaven was against me and
my work.

"What are you about?" I said, catching
desperately at the reins, for the stupid boor
was already turning his beast about. "Drive
forward."

"But the bridge?"

En avant! Within ten minutes more the
hoofs of the fleet mare began to clatter on the
pavement, and we were in the little posting
town. But all in darkness except at the
lower end, where there were torches moving
about, and where all the inhabitants seemed
to have collected. There were round us in
an instant excited men, all talking together,
with the torches flaring in the eyes of the
fleet mare, and making her rear and plunge.
Were the engineers come at last? When
were they coming? There was not so much
danger now, for the flood was beginning to
fall. That giving way of the bridges, had
saved them.

"But the malle-poste?" I asked.

"Just arrived, but could go no further
that night. To-morrow evening, when the
boats were got up, and the bridge repaired,
just temporarily—perhaps to-morrow night I
might be set across."

"Was there no drive round? No other
bridge up or down?—no matter how much
out of the way."

"Yes, there was the wooden bridge some
eight miles higher, but Monsieur must see
what little chance it has when the great
Saint Marsan bridge, quite new, and built of
stone at enormous cost, had given way."

"No boat?"

"No boat: all dashed to pieces in the flood,
it had come so suddenly."

It was all over then. It was no use
struggling with Destiny; and with a sort of
heart-sick resolve of doing something—no
matter—what I jumped to the ground, and
made my way through the crowd and flaring
torches to the river's edge. It went roaring
by, a white, swollen sheet of foam; a great
broad river utterly impassable. I could see
the jagged masonry where the new bridge
had been rent away. It was utterly hopeless,
and I turned back from the edge
filled with despair, not caring what might
become of me. I suppose as much could be
gathered from my face; for they made way
for me respectfully, and whispered together.