Part 68 (1/2)

There was a dreadful gasp--a parting moan--a snort; her eye gazed, for an instant, upon her master, with a dying glare; then grew gla.s.sy, rayless, fixed. A s.h.i.+ver ran through her frame. Her heart had burst.

d.i.c.k's eyes were blinded, as with rain. His triumph, though achieved, was forgotten--his own safety was disregarded. He stood weeping and swearing, like one beside himself.

”And art thou gone, Bess?” cried he, in a voice of agony, lifting up his courser's head, and kissing her lips, covered with blood-flecked foam.

”Gone, gone! and I have killed the best steed that was ever crossed! And for what?” added d.i.c.k, beating his brow with his clenched hand--”for what? for what?”

At this moment the deep bell of the Minster clock tolled out the hour of six.

”I am answered,” gasped d.i.c.k; ”_it was to hear those strokes_.”

Turpin was roused from the state of stupefaction into which he had fallen by a smart slap on the shoulder. Recalled to himself by the blow, he started at once to his feet, while his hands sought his pistols: but he was spared the necessity of using them, by discovering in the intruder the bearded visage of the gipsy Balthazar. The patrico was habited in mendicant weeds, and sustained a large wallet upon his shoulders.

”So it's all over with the best mare in England, I see,” said Balthazar; ”I can guess how it has happened--you are pursued?”

”I am,” said d.i.c.k, roughly.

”Your pursuers are at hand?”

”Within a few hundred yards.”

”Then, why stay here? Fly while you can.”

”Never--never,” cried Turpin; ”I'll fight it out here by Bess's side.

Poor la.s.s! I've killed her--but she has done it--ha, ha!--we have won--what?” And his utterance was again choked.

”Hark! I hear the tramp of horse, and shouts,” cried the patrico. ”Take this wallet. You will find a change of dress within it. Dart into that thick copse--save yourself.”

”But Bess--I cannot leave her,” exclaimed d.i.c.k, with an agonizing look at his horse.

”And what did Bess die for, but to save you?” rejoined the patrico.

”True, true,” said d.i.c.k; ”but take care of her, don't let those dogs of h.e.l.l meddle with her carcase.”

”Away,” cried the patrico, ”leave Bess to me.”

Possessing himself of the wallet, d.i.c.k disappeared in the adjoining copse.

He had not been gone many seconds when Major Mowbray rode up.

”Who is this?” exclaimed the Major, flinging himself from his horse, and seizing the patrico; ”this is not Turpin.”

”Certainly not,” replied Balthazar, coolly. ”I am not exactly the figure for a highwayman.”

”Where is he? What has become of him?” asked Coates, in despair, as he and Paterson joined the major.

”Escaped, I fear,” replied the major. ”Have you seen any one, fellow?”

added he, addressing the patrico.

”I have seen no one,” replied Balthazar. ”I am only this instant arrived. This dead horse lying in the road attracted my attention.”