Sturdy stood as still as if he had been part of the quarry, stood
as if never of himself would he move again.
The light slowly grew, or rather, the darkness slowly thinned. All at
once John became aware that, some yards away from him, there was
something whitish. A moment, and it began to move like a flitting mist
through the darkness. The same instant Sturdy began to pull his feet from
the ground, and move after the mist, which rose and rose until it came
for a second or two between John and the sky: it was a big white horse,
with my uncle on his back: Death and he, John concluded, were out on one
of their dark wanderings! His impulse, of course, was to follow them.
But, as they went up the steep way, Sturdy came down on his old knees,
and John got off his back to let him recover himself the easier. When
they reached the level, where the moon, showing a blunt horn above the
horizon, made it possible to see a little, the white horse and his rider
had disappeared--in some shadow, or behind some knoll, I fancy; and John,
having not the least notion in what part of the moor he was, or in which
direction he ought to go, threw the reins on the horse's neck. Sturdy
brought him back almost to his stable, before he knew where he was. Then
he turned into the road, for he had had enough of the moor, and took the
long way home.
CHAPTER XXIX.
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