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Kingsley, Charles, 1819-1875

"Hereward, the Last of the English"


"Then you will be dead ere dawn. Folks that run wild in the forest thus,
for but one night, die!"
"Would God I could die!"
"That shall be as He wills; you do not die while Martin can keep you
alive. Why, you are staggering already."
Martin caught her up in his arms, threw her over his shoulder as if she
had been a child, and hurried on, in the strength of madness.
At last he stopped at a cottage door, set her down upon the turf, and
knocked loudly.
"Grimkel Tolison! Grimkel, I say!"
And Martin burst the door open with his foot.
"Give me a horse, on your life," said he to the man inside. "I am Martin,
Hereward's man, upon my master's business."
"What is mine is Hereward's, God bless him," said the man, struggling into
a garment, and hurrying out to the shed.
"There is a ghost against the gate!" cried he, recoiling.
"That is my matter, not yours. Get me a horse to put the ghost upon."
Torfrida lay against the gate-post, exhausted now; but quite unable to
think. Martin lifted her on to the beast, and led her onward, holding her
up again and again.
"You are tired. You had run four miles before I could make you hear me."
"Would I had run four thousand." And she relapsed into stupor.
They passed out of the forest, across open wolds, and at last down to the
river.


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