The sheep path leading up the river to the road followed close the edge of the cliff, where a false step by the horse would mean death to both horse and rider.
But Dorothy feared not, or knew not, the danger, and I caught her ever whispered cry,--"On, Dolcy, on; on, Dolcy, on." Ashamed to fall behind, yet fearing to ride at such a pace on such a path, I urged my horse forward.

He was a fine, strong, mettlesome brute, and I succeeded in keeping the girl's dim form in sight.

The moon, which was rapidly sinking westward, still gave us light through rifts in the black bank of floating clouds, else that ride over the sheep path by the cliff would have been our last journey in the flesh.
Soon we reached the main road turning southward.

It was a series of rough rocks and mudholes, and Dorothy and Dolcy shot forward upon it with the speed of the tempest, to undo, if possible, the evil which a dozen words, untimely spoken, had wrought.

I urged my horse until his head was close by Dolcy's tail, and ever and anon could I hear the whispered cry,--"On, Dolcy, on; on, Dolcy, sweet Dolcy, good Dolcy; on, my pet, on." No word was spoken between Dorothy and me; but I could hear Dolcy panting with her mighty effort, and amid the noise of splashing water and the thud, thud, thud of our horses' hoofs came always back to me from Dorothy's lips the sad, sad cry, full of agony and longing,--"On, Dolcy, on; on Dolcy, on." The road we took led us over steep hills and down through dark, shadow-crowded ravines; but up hill, down hill, and on the level the terrible girl before me plunged forward with unabated headlong fury until I thought surely the flesh of horse, man, and woman could endure the strain not one moment longer.