Fox hunting -- Fiction; Horses -- Fiction; Ireland -- Fiction
Neither spoke, but some thrill ran home to Maria’s heart with the
meeting of the palms, and sent the dew to her hot eyes. They separated
in silence, and Lady Susan, following the long cleft to its termination,
climbed up the bank. Looking back, she saw the hounds still hurrying in
and out among the hazels in excited and fruitless search, and beyond
them Maria’s black figure going away into the mist and fog. She walked
uncertainly, and once or twice her hand went up to her eyes.
CHAPTER XIII
As Lady Susan scrambled down the other side of the bank she said
mechanically to herself that Hugh must have taken another turn before
they crossed the railway, only for that she would have seen him when she
looked back before she rode at her last jump. How extraordinarily well
he had been going--how long ago it seemed, and yet it could only have
been about ten minutes. Below her stretched the long fields up which
Solomon had carried her; the mist swept thick and cold across them,
shutting out the rest of the world, and making their loneliness more
complete. A grey horse was moving up the field towards her; she walked
uneasily towards it, crippled by her safety habit, stiff in every limb.
She could at first only make out that it was lame, she neared and saw a
saddle and dangling reins. The stillness of the hillside seemed to tell
her the rest. She came up to the grey horse and took him by the head; he
was dead lame and trembling all over, there was mud on his jaw, on his
shoulder, on the saddle. She had seen before what horses looked like
after a bad fall. She led him down the field in the direction from which
he had come, and saw, away by the fence, a motionless spot of scarlet
and white.
In a few moments she was on her knees beside her husband. His face was
buried in a heather tussock, his hands were clinched in the black and
boggy soil; as she tried to turn him over the blood trickled heavily
from the corner of his mouth. A little gurgling sound in his throat told
her that he was alive, but he was far away in that trance of physical
defeat in which soul and body seem alike absorbed.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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