Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1905-12-03
SUNDAY MAGAZINE for DEcEMBER ;. 1908


incline of Henley Hill, and the gray
castle tower of Midhurst rose over the
coppice in front, that at last the eager
outstretched neck sank a little on the
breast, and the breath came quick and
fast. Look where he would in woodland
and on down, his straining eyes could
catch no sign of those plains of freedom
which he sought.
And yet another outrage! 1t was bad
that this creature should still cling SO
tight upon his back, but now he would
even go to the intolerable length of
checking him and guiding him on the
way that he would have him go. There
was sharp pluck at his mouth, and his
head was turned north once more AS
well go that way as another; but the man
was mad indeed if he thought that such
a horse as Pommers was at the end of
his spirit or his strength. He would soon
show him that he was unconquered, II
it strained his sinews or broke his heart
to do So Back then he flew up the long,
long ascent. Would he ever get to the end
of it? Yet he would not own that he
could go no farther while the man still
kept his grip. He was white with foam
and caked with mud. His eyes were
gorged with blood, his mouth open and
gasping, his nostrils expanded, his coat
stark and reeking. On he flew down
the long Sunday Hill until he reached
the deep Kingsley Marsh at the bottom.
No, it was too rnuchl Flesh and blood
could go no farther. AS he struggled
out from the reedy slime with the heavy
black mud still clinging to his fetlocks, he
at last eased down with sobbing breath
and slowed the tumultuous gallop to a
canter.
Oh, crowning infamy! Was there no
limit to these degradations? He was no
longer even to choose his own pace.
Since he had chosen to gallop SO far at
his own will he must now gallop farther
still at the will of another. A spur
struck home on either flank. A singing
whip-lash fell across his shoulder. He
bounded his own height in the air at the
pain and the shame of it. Then, for
getting his weary limbs, forgetting his
painting, reeking sides, forgetting every
thing save this intolerab1e insult and the
burning spirit within, he plunged off once
more upon his furious gallop. He was
out on the heather slopes again and
heading for Weydown Common. On he
flew and on. But again his brain failed
him and again his limbs trembled be-
meath him, and yet again he strove to
ease his pace, only to be driven onward
by the cruel spur and the falling lash.
He was blind and giddy with fatigue.
He saw no longer where he placed his
feet, he cared no longer whittier he went,
but his one mad longing was to get away
from this dreadful thing, this torture
which chung to him and would not let
him go. Through Thurs1ey village he
passed, his eyes straining in his agony,
his heart bursting within him, and he had
won his way to the crest of Thursley
Down, still stung forward by stab and
blow, when his spirit weakened, his giant
strength ebbed out of him, and with one
deep sob of agony the yellow horse sank
among the heather. So sudden was the
fall that Nigel flew forward over his
shoulder, and beast and man lay PROSTATE
and gasping whilst the last red rim of the
sun sank behind Butser and the first stars
cleaned in a violet sky.