Waterbury evening Democrat., 1888-02-22

The horses were trotting at their best. There was none too much time. It was far better than he had hoped. The dangers had gathered so thickly, there had seemed at one time hardly more than chance for escape. Peril seemed on every hand, enemies to spring from every covert, and stretch out their hands to stop the fugitives. But the village was far behind now. A few moments more and the steaming horses would draw up at the Lockout station, and they would be whirled away faster than any pur- suer to peace and safety and honor. '.How odd it all is, setting out in this way as if we were eloping"
 Philip was reaching forward to take her hand, but he drew back, as if he were Stung How terribly thoughtless she was.
 II explained about the steamers early morning start"
 Do you know,' resumed Bertha softly, Chow pleased I am to have this trip to Flu rope! It is a sort of wedding journey isn't it f' How good God had been, to let him keep Hthe awful truth from her. It would have crushed her, the very thought of her shame It was crushing him.
 ''I shall enjoy it very much," she said put ting out her hand to him, in unusual fond ness. II am afraid 1 haven't returned your goodness very we'll" No more she had
 ''Wh here shall we go frst!"
 "To the south of France, God willing," he added solemnly.
 Bertha looked at his face with a new anx- iety. The moonlight seemed to bring out all the marks of his terrible care and suffering But he gazed at her i'll aStonlShment; he had never seen an expression near love in her eyes for him. Was her heart softening, would she yet make up to him in her new love all that he lost for her sake? But her lips were moving.
 1T shall be better with you than I used to be. IT." she dropped her eyes before his passionate joy, the sadness had gone in an instant from his face, his future seemed beau tifully radiant again. '1 feel different to- ward you, dear"
 He bent forward to draw her to his heart He was paid for everything. He had taught his wife to love him as he dreamed she could love. She had lifted her rapt face toward his It had come-the moment he had given his life for. But suddenly his heart stopped beating; there was sound of gallOping horse. Philip kissed his wife, but as solemn ly as if she were dead, and put her away from him. He leaned forward and looked back over the road they had come
 He saw nothing at first, but he heard the sound of horses hoofs. He put his head far out. It might have been a white speck in the road, but as he looked the speck became a dead run, on their course. Philip Breton's heart, that had just been almost bursting with its new happiness, was great, cold stone in his breast. And he fancied he could escape, with enemies like his and whole will lage against him. He could see only one pur- suer. An, he knew who it must be- And that pursuer grew nearer every moment
 "Drive faster," he shouted to the coach man, run the horses"
 How like the wind his pursuer came. Philip had thought there was but one horse that could leap so nightly. Why this was that one, his own horse Joe. Why it might be servant from his home with something that had been forgotten. It need not be the worst peril his fancy could pictures But he dared not hope.
 "Isl't this delightful" exclaimed Bertha. ''There can't be any danger of our missing the train at this rate.''
 "Whip your horses; don't spare them faster"
 If anything should break their troubles would all end that night. And the strain on the harnesses and the grooming axles was be- yond all calculation of the makers. The horses, too, had got past the control of the driver. He had no more occasion to urge the wild creatures; instead, he was pulling at the reins with all his strength, but to no pur- pose, except so far he had kept them in the road.
 and his long, loose hair and his swinging hand, as he struck the panting white Hanks of the horse, gave him an uncanny look as if there were no deed of horror too blood curd- ling for him to do. The horse dropped big flakes of foam from his mouth foam mingled with blood his eyes and nostrils were diated with agony; his breathing was like. fierce gusts of wind in a tempest. Philip Breton knew the rider as well as the horse. His pur- Suer was Curran and the implacable laws made him yet the husband of the woman whom Philip Breton had made his wife.
 They were almost at Lockout. The car riage gave terrible lurch at a turn in the road The horses were almost taken off their feet, but still there was no accident; the win dows of the carriage grazed the solid wall of rock without being broken, and in moment the horses, now subdued, were trotting down the hill toward the city.
 But the fugtives had hardly escaped the. cut through the rocks when the pursuer en- tered it. He had almost overtaken them. He struck the horses white Hanks a pitiless blow. It was at the very spot where Curran had saved Bertha's life from the mad dog, that the old horse, forced beyond his strength, stopped as if lightning had struck him. The blood welled in torrents from his mouth and nostrils; he quivered like leaf, and then fell dead ill his tracks. The rider shot over the creatures head with the gathered mo- mentum of that mad race, and struck the jagged rock with a sickening crash
 Curran was dead.