About fifteen minutes more of fierce
riding followed; and although Roland's horse showed no signs of
exhaustion, the pursuing beast, which was taller in limb and more
lithe, was remorselessly, though slowly, lessening the distance. The
road now began to sink into a valley, and thick forest grew upon
either side. Roland's pursuer was not more than fifteen paces behind,
when the fugitive heard a scuffing sound. He but too well divined
what it was; and the next moment his horse fell to the road, struck
by the slugs from the pursuer's carbine.
'It is as well,' muttered our hero, as he sprang away from the
gasping beast. The next moment he had disappeared in the dense, dark
wood. Ah! how sheltering, how kindly, seemed that sombre sanctuary,
with its dark grey tufts beneath his feet, and the thick, dusk-green
branches of the fir and pine! The gloomy background seemed to invite
him further into the heart of its shade and _silence_. No bird
whistled through the glaucous green of this silent, majestic wood;
nor was there any treacherous bramble to crackle beneath his feet.
For upon this chill, grey carpet no flood of sunshine ever came to
coax tiny sprays out of the ground; and the layers of fine needles,
or tufts of dank, sunless moss were soft and noiseless as down under
his tread.
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