Love stories; New York (N.Y.) -- Fiction; Scotland -- Fiction
After his gallop Athlyne went quietly along the road past Grant’s Tomb
and followed the course of the Drive. Here the road descended,
circling round the elevation on which the Tomb is erected. Below it is
the valley of some old watercourse into the Hudson. This valley has
been bridged by a viaduct over which the Drive continues its course up
the side of the river for many miles. To-day however, it was necessary
to make a detour, descend the steep on the hither side of the valley
and rise up the other side. Some settlement had affected the base of
the up-river end of the bridge and it had given way. The rock on which
New York is based is of a very soft nature, and rots slowly away, so
that now and again a whole front of a house will slide down a slope,
the underlying rock having perished. Not long before, this had
actually happened to a group of houses in Park Row. Now the bridge had
fallen away; the road ended abruptly, and below lay a great shapeless
mass of twisted metal and stone. The near end of the viaduct was
barred off with wooden rails, and in the centre was a great board with
a warning that the thoroughfare was closed.
Athlyne rode up as far as the Up-Town Club, sat for awhile amongst the
trees on the river bank and thought of many things. Amongst these of
the girl with the gray eyes who looked so admiringly at his horse--or
himself. Perhaps he accepted the latter alternative, for as his
thoughts ran he smiled and stroked his big moustache.
When he rode towards town again he kept a sharp look out,
unconsciously slackening speed when any old man and young woman riding
together came in sight. He had ascended the eastern side of the
valley, over which lay the broken viaduct, and commenced to traverse
the curved slope leading up to Grant’s Tomb when he heard a sudden
shouting on the road in front and saw a rush of people to both sides
and up the steps to the Tomb. An instant after a mounted constable
appeared urging his horse to a gallop as he cried out:
“Clear the road! Clear the road! It’s a run-a-way!” Instinctively
Athlyne drew to the roadside, a double purpose in his mind; to keep
the way clear as directed, and to be able to render assistance if
possible. The noise and cries drew closer and there was on the hard
road a thunder of many hoof strokes. Then round the curve swept a
brown mare dashing madly in a frenzied gallop--the neck stretched out
and the eyes flaming. The woman who rode her, a tall girl with black
hair and great gray eyes, sat easily, holding her reins so as to be
able to use them when the time should come. She was in full possession
of herself. She did not look frightened, though her face was very
pale. Behind her but a little way off came two mounted policemen and
the old man with the big white moustache. Other men variously mounted
came hurrying in the background; beyond them a whole long series of
horse vehicles and motor cars.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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