The McCook tribune. (McCook, Neb.) 1886-1936, 1894-12-28
TIE PORTEuT.
A Sto,y of the Inner Vision Of the
R;Ghlandersr Commonly Called
the Second Sight.
BY GEORGE MACDONALD.
CHAPTER H.-(Continucd.)

fury.
'They say. likewise. that the lady
hair is still growing; for. every time
they see her. it is longer than before
and that now such is it's length and
the dealong speed of the hourse. tina,
1t floats and streams out behind like
n of those curved clouds. like a com
cts tail, far up in the sky; only the
cloud is white. and the hair dark a
night. And they say it will go o.
growing till the Last Day, when the
horse will falter and her hair will
gather in; and the horse will fall, and
the hair will twist, and Irvine. and
wreathe itself like a mist of threats
about him, and bind him to everything
hut her. Then the body will rise VI
within it, face to face with him. an
mated by a fiend who. twining hni
arms around him, will drag him down
to the bottOmless pit.
HE need not think TO take me in.
wizard as he is. with his disguise. l
can see through them all. Duncan.
my dear, when you suspect anything
do not be too incredulOus. This human
demon is, of ours Il wizard still, and
knows how to make himself, as we'll
as anything he touches. take quite Il
different appearance from the real Ona;
only every appearance must bear SOME
resemblance, however. distant. to lie
the natural form. What he is after.
now. of course. l cannot tell; but you
must keep a bold heart, and a firm and
wary foot, as you go home tonight"
L showed some surprise. | do not
doubt; and, perhaps. some fear as we'll;
but | only said: How do you know
this. Margaret
Il "a hardly tell you" she replied:
Nbut | do know him. / think he hates
me. Often, of a wild night, when there
is moonlight enough by fits, | see him
tearing around this little valley, just
on the top edge-all round; the lady's
hair and the horses name and tail driy-
ing far behind, and mingling. vaporous,
with the snowy clouds. About he goes,
in wild %careering gallop. now lost rs
the moon goes in. then visible far
round when she looks out again-an
airy, pale-gray specter. which few
eyes but mine could see; for. as far
as | am aware, no one of the family
but myself has eve possessed the
double gift of seeing and hearing both.
In this case l hear no sound. except
now and then a clank from the broken
shoe. But / did not mean to tell you
that I had ever seen him. 1 am not Il
bit afraid of him. He cannot do more
than he may. His power is limited;
else i'll enough would he work, the mis-
creant."
But" said 1, "what has all this. ter
rlble as it is. to do with the fright YOU
took at my telling you that l had heard
the sound of the broken shoe? Surely
CnrI 0rn NOT afroil nf on1- q, +o,n 80,
No. my boy; l fear no storm. But
the fact is, that the sound is seldom
heard. and never, as far as | know. by
any of the blood of that wicked man.
without betokening some i'll to one of
the family. and most probably to the
n who hears it-but | am not quite
sure about that. Only some evil it
does portend. although a long time
may elapse before it shows itself: and |
have a hope it may mean some one else
than you"
DO not wish that" / replied. Il
know no one better able to bear it
h Ia | am: and L hope, whatever it may
be, that l only shall have to meet it.
1t must surely be something serious to
be so foretOld; it can hardly be con
nected with my disappointment in be
ing compelled to be Il pedagogue III
stead of q soldier"
DO not trouble yourself about that.
Duncan" replied she. "A soldier YOU
must be. The same day you told me
of the clank of the broken horseshoe. |
saw you return wounded from battle.
and fall fainting from your horse in
the street Of a great city-only faint
ing, thank God! But l have particular
reasons for being uneasy at your hear
ing that boding sound. Can you tell
me the day and hour of your birthy'
"No,"I replied. at seems very odd
when l think of it. but l really do not
know even the day"
Nor anyone else. which is stranger
Still?" she answered.
"How does that happen, nurse?"
1--WE were in terrible anxiety about
your mother at the time. So ill was
she, after you were just born, in 4
strange, u~naccountable way. that you
lay almost neglected for more than
an hour. In the very act of giving
birth to you, she seemed to the rest |
around her to be out of her mind. So |
wildly did she talk; but l knew better. i
1 knew that she was fighting some evil
power; and what power it was. l knew
full well; for twice during her pains.
i heard the click of the horseshoe. But
no one could help her. After her de-
livery, she lay as if in a trance. neither
dead nor at rest, but as if frozen to ice.
and conscious of it all the while. Once
more / heard the terrible sound of iron:
and, at the moment your mother start
ed from her trance. screaming, My
child my child! We suddenly became
aware that no one had attended to the
child, and rushed to the place where
lie lay wrapped in a blanket. Uncov-
ering him, we found him black in the
face, and spotted with dark spots upon
the throat. 1 thought he was dead:
but, with great and almost hopeless
pains. we succeeded in making him
breathe, and he gradually recovered.
But his mother continued dreadfully
1t seemed as if she had
spent her life for her child's defense
and birth. That was you, Duncan, my
dear.
81 was in constant attendance upon
her. About a week after your birth. as
near as | can guess. just in the gloam-
ing, ] heard yet again the awful clanl.
only once. Nothing followed till
about midnight. Your mother slept.
and you lay asleep beside her. l sat
by the bedside. A horror fell upon
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