encampment; and as some of the dusky itinerants, waiting perhaps the
return of a part of their band from a predatory excursion, cowered over
the flickering fires in their tent, they perceived the horseman rapidly
approaching the stream.

"See to yon gentry cove," cried one of the band; "'tis the same we saw in
the forenight crossing the ford above. He has taken a short cut, the
buzzard! and will have to go round again to the ford; a precious time to
be gallivanting about!"

"Pish!" said an old hag; "I love to see the proud ones tasting the bitter
wind and rain as we bear alway; 'tis but a mile longer round to the ford.
I wish it was twenty."

"Hallo!" cried the first speaker; "the fool takes to the water. He'll be
drowned; the banks are too high and rough to land man or horse yonder.
Hallo!" and with that painful sympathy which the hardest feel at the
imminent peril of another when immediately subjected to their eyes, the
gipsy ran forth into the pelting storm, shouting to the traveller to halt.
For one moment Godolphin's steed still shrunk back from the rushing tide:
deep darkness was over the water; and the horseman saw not the height of
the opposite banks. The shout of the gipsy sounded to his ear like the
cry of the dead whom he had left: he dashed his heels into the sides of
the reluctant horse, and was in the stream.

"Light--light the torches!" cried the gipsy; and in a few moments the
banks were illumined with many a brand from the fire, which the rain
however almost instantly extinguished; yet, by that momentary light, they
saw the noble animal breasting the waters, and perceived that Godolphin,
discovering by the depth his mistake, had already turned the horse's head