e, which wakes the
moment the man of civilization is hard put to it, the moment he flagged,
still drove the cruel spurs into his flanks, when the grand, unresenting
creature would rush forward at straining speed--not, I venture to think,
so much in obedience to the pain, as in obedience to the will of his
master, fresh recognized through the pain.

Close to the high road, where they were now approaching it through the
fields, a rail-fence had just been put up, inclosing a piece of ground
which the owner wished to let for building. That the fact might be
known, he was about to erect a post with a great board announcing it.
For this post a man had dug the hole, and then gone to his dinner. The
inclosure lay between Faber and the road, in the direct line he was
taking. On went Ruber blindly--more blindly than his master knew, for,
with the prolonged running, he had partially lost his sight, so that he
was close to the fence before he saw it. But he rose boldly, and cleared
it--to light, alas! on the other side with a foreleg in the hole. Down
he came with a terrible crash, pitched his master into the road upon his
head, and lay groaning with a broken leg. Faber neither spoke nor moved,
but lay as he fell. A poor woman ran to his assistance, and finding she
could do nothing for him, hurried to the town for help. His friend, who
was the first surgeon in the place, flew to the spot, and had him
carried to his house. It was a severe case of concussion of the brain.

Poor old Ruber was speedily helped to a world better than this for
horses, I trust.

Meantime Glaston was in commotion. The servants had spread the frightful
news that their mistress had vanished, and their master ridden off like
a madman. "But he won't find her alive, poor lady! I don't think," was
the general close of their communication, accompanied by a would-be
wise and really sympathetic shake of the head. In this conclusion most
agreed, for there was a general impression of something strange about
her, partly occasioned by the mysterious way in which Mrs. Puckridge had
spoken concerning her illness and the marvelous thing the doctor had
done to save her life. People now supposed that she had gone suddenly
mad, or, rather, that the latent madness so plain to read in those
splendid eyes of hers had been suddenly developed, and that under its
influence she had rushed away, and probably drowned herself. Nor were
there wanting, among the discontented women of G