The swaying tree-tops waved them on with wild gesticulations. The
lightning and the thunder added wings to the flying steed.
Just before reaching the river bank they had to pass through
a stretch of tall pines, whose dark heads were swaying to and fro
until they almost met above the narrow road, making it so dark
below that the black horse grew dim in the shadow, while the gaunt
trunks creaked and groaned and the leaves hissed and sobbed as the
wind swept through them. The resinous fragrance mingled with the
clayey breath of the pursuing storm. The ghost-like trunks stood
out against the lightning flashes like bars before the path of flame.
She no longer tried to control her horse. Between the flashes, his
iron feet filled the rocky road with sparks of fire. He reached
the ford and dashed knee-deep into the dark, swift stream, casting
a cool spray around him before he checked his speed. Then he halted
for an instant, tossed his head as if to give the breeze a chance
to creep beneath his flowing mane, cast a quick glance back at
his rider, and throwing out his muzzle uttered a long, loud neigh
that seemed like a joyful hail, and pressed on with quick, careful
steps, picking his way along the ledge of out-cropping granite which
constituted the ford, as if traversing a well-remembered causeway.
The water grew deeper and darker; the rider reached down and
gathered up her dark habit and drew her feet up close beneath her.
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