h beyond it they would
strike away to the left and descend toward Langona Creek; and he
began to slant his course to the left in anticipation. The tide, he
knew, would be running in strong; and with this wind behind it he
hoped--and caught himself praying--that it would be high enough to
cover the wooden foot-bridge and make the ford impassable; and if so,
the horseman would be delayed and forced to head back and fetch a
circuit farther up the valley.

By this time the squalls were coming fast on each other's heels, and
the strength of them flung him forward at each stride. He had lost
his hat, and the rain poured down his back and squished in his boots.
But all he felt was the hate in his heart. It had gathered there
little by little for three years and a half, pent up, fed by his
silent thoughts as a reservoir by small mountain streams; and with so
tranquil a surface that at times--poor youth!--he had honestly
believed it reflected God's calm, had been proud of his magnanimity,
and said "forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive them that trespass
against us." Now as he ran he prayed to the same God to delay the
traitor at the ford.

Dusk was falling when George, yet unaware of pursuit, turned down the
sunken lane which ended beside the ford. And by the shore, when the
small waves lapped against his mare's fore-feet, he heard Taffy's
shout for the first time and turned in his saddle. Even so it was a
second or two before he recognised the figure which came plunging
down the low cliff on his left, avoiding a fall only by wild clutches
at the swaying elder boughs.

"Hello!" he shouted cheerfully. "Looks nasty, doesn't it?"

Taffy came down the beach, near enough to see that the mare's legs
were plastered with mud, and to look up into his enemy's face.

"Get down," he panted.

"Hey?"

"Get down, I tell you. Come off your horse and put up your fists!"

"What the devil is the matter? Hello! . . . Keep off, I tell you!
Are you mad?"

"Come off and fight."

"By God, I'll break your head in if you don't let go. . . . You
idiot!"--as the mare plunged and tore the stirrup-leather from
Taffy's grip--"She'll brain you, if you fool round her heels like
that!"

"Come off, then."

"Very well." George backed a little, swung himself out of the saddle
and faced him on the beach. "Now perhaps you'll explain."

"You've come from the headland?"

"Well?"

"From Lizzie Pezzack's."

"Well, and what then?"