Dreading every moment to be thrown, he pushed on as fast as the horse would go.
There was no pursuit, and after a mile or so, as he left the firs and entered the ash woods, he slackened somewhat.

It was, indeed, necessary, for here the hoofs of preceding horsemen had poached the turf (always damp under ash) into mud.

It was less dark, for the boughs of the ashes did not meet above.
As he passed, wood-pigeons rose with loud clatterings from their roosting-places, and once or twice he saw in the gloom the fiery phosphoric eye-balls of the grey wood-cats.

How gladly he recognised presently the change from trees to bushes, when he rode out from the thick ashes among the low hawthorns, and knew that he was within a mile or so of the South Barrier at home! Already he heard the song of the nightingale, the long note which at night penetrates so far; the nightingale, which loves the hawthorn and the neighbourhood of man.
Imperceptibly he increased the speed again; the horse, too, knew that he was nearing home, and responded willingly.
The track was much broader and fairly good, but he knew that at one spot where it was marshy it must be cut up.

There he went at the side, almost brushing a projecting maple bush.