He and the overseer were evidently approaching the fence; some of the negroes had doubtless apprised them of the course of Harry's exit.
Alec turned quickly to face his master, and Harry, realizing that his last moment had come, swung himself into the saddle.

If Alec made any reply to his question it was lost in the clatter of hoofs as both horse and man swept down the by-path.

In another moment they had gained the main road, the rider never breaking rein until he had reached the farm-house where he had fed and watered his horse some hours before.
Thirty-odd miles out and back was not a long ride for a hired horse in these days over a good turnpike with plenty of time for resting--and he had as many breathing spells as gallops, for Harry's moods really directed his gait.

Once in a while he would give him his head, the reins lying loose, the horse picking his way in a walk.

Then the bitterness of his father's words and how undeserved they were, and how the house of cards his hopes had built up had come tumbling down about his ears at the first point of contact would rush over him, and he would dig his heels into the horse's flanks and send him at full gallop through the night along the pale ribbon of a road barely discernible in the ghostly dark.