Five miles accomplished: here is the great oak-tree which the lightning had struck half a century ago; but twenty miles now lie before him. Another landmark is passed,--the iron spring, with its red mouth framed in green ferns, where he had once journeyed to bring _her_ a flask of the strengthening water. On and on they fly, startling the birds in the thickets and the foxes in their coverts, racing with the lazy breeze which puffs slowly along and is soon left behind by the horse’s speed. At the spring on the hillside, where Millicent’s hand had checked his shooting of the deer, the rider draws rein and springs to the ground; while the gasping horse stands for a brief breathing-space, drawing long, painful breaths. Graham cools his heated brow in the rocky basin, and gives his horse a mouthful of the refreshing water. Then they start away again towards the house where so many happy hours of his life have been spent; where he first saw Millicent! It is a terrible ride, and one that the man never will forget to his dying day. The anguish of doubt and fear, the awful pace at which he rides, which makes every mile he accomplishes seem like to be the last, will never be forgotten by him in the quiet after-years. Now but ten miles separate him from the vine-clad house; quickly are they accomplished; and in a space of time too short to be credited by those towards whom he rides, he reaches the high hill which looks down upon the valley. The familiar look of the surroundings surprises him. A blue feather of smoke curls about the red chimney; the trees in the orchard, the cattle browsing on the hills, look just as he has seen them a thousand times before; nothing betokens any unusual state of affairs within the quiet house. The brave horse gathers himself together for a last gallop; and the stones of the hillside fly from his hoofs as man and beast thunder down the rocky path which loses itself in the wide farm-road at the edge of the orchard. From this point he commands a view of Millicent’s window. He gives a low groan as he looks up for some sign of life,--the heavy blinds are tightly closed. CHAPTER XII. "Most sacrilegious murder hath broke ope The Lord’s anointed temple, and stole thence The life o’ the building."