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MacDonald, George, 1824-1905

"The Flight of the Shadow"

I hope it was something
better than pride that made me hold on my way. If the wicked, I thought,
flee when no man pursueth, it ill becomes the righteous to flee before
the wicked. By this time it was all but dark night, and I had a vague
hope of passing unquestioned: there had been a good deal of rain, and we
were in a very marshy part of the heath, so that I did not care to leave
the track. But, just ere we met, the lady turned her great animal right
across the way, and there made him stand.
"Ah," thought I, "what could Zoe do in a race with that terrible horse!"
He seemed made of the darkness, and rose like the figurehead of a frigate
above a yacht.
"Show me the way to Rising," said his rider.
The hard bell-voice was unmistakable.
"When you come where the track forks," I began.
She interrupted me.
"How can I distinguish in the dark?" she returned angrily. "Go on before,
and show me the way."
Now I had good reason for thinking she knew the way perfectly well; and
still better reason for declining to go on in front of her.
"You must excuse me," I said, "for it is time I were at home; but if you
will turn and ride on in front of me, I will show you a better, though
rather longer way to Rising."
"Go on, or I will ride you down" she cried, turning her horse's head
toward me, and making her whip hiss through the air.
The sound of it so startled Zoe, that she sprang aside, and was off the
road a few yards before I could pull her up.


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