StNicholas [serial] . loudly as he flew pasthim in the night: To Brantham, Tom! And ridefor love and life ! And then he was gone again; and there wasonly the dust, hanging above the roadway in themoonbeams that broke through the branches ofthe tall, sheltering trees. Chapter XV BY THE COLD LIGHT OF THE MOON All peace-loving folks in Cattawade had longsince gone to bed, and only an occasional lightburned in an upper-story window, when RolandHood went through the village like the wind, andcame out upon the open, mud-girt valley, wherethe North Sea has broken an inlet into the Essexcoast. His hor
StNicholas [serial] . loudly as he flew pasthim in the night: To Brantham, Tom! And ridefor love and life ! And then he was gone again; and there wasonly the dust, hanging above the roadway in themoonbeams that broke through the branches ofthe tall, sheltering trees. Chapter XV BY THE COLD LIGHT OF THE MOON All peace-loving folks in Cattawade had longsince gone to bed, and only an occasional lightburned in an upper-story window, when RolandHood went through the village like the wind, andcame out upon the open, mud-girt valley, wherethe North Sea has broken an inlet into the Essexcoast. His horse was dripping wet, and its chestand flanks were bespattered with white, soapyfoam, that flew off in the wind, and caught thebrambles at the roadside on the way. He hadridden from The Tankard to Bentley Hall, andthence to Judas Gap. He had covered thegreater part of the distance at the gallop; andnow there was this wild, frantic ride along theBergholt road, through Cattawade, to the oldwooden bridge across the STEP BY STEP, ROLAND DROVE HIM BACK TOWARD THE RIVER-BANK. (see page 633.) 63, 632 THE REFUGEE [May, That once-famous bridge has long since beendestroyed, and an iron railway bridge has nowtaken its place, but it was considered a master-piece of construction in its day. Daniel Defoesaw it, upon his journey to Ipswich, and it ismentioned in his Tour through Great the old days when Dedham was the weaving-center of East England, and the waterways wereused more for traffic than they are to-day, theponderous Flemish barges used to pass beneathit, and steal silently between the willows intothe valley of the Stour. Here, when BranthamLock was open, the incoming tide met the cur-rent of the river; and the salt water, minglingwith the fresh, lapped the rush-grown banks inlittle wavelets crested with creamy foam. On this fateful night, destined never to be for-gotten by at least one family on the banks of thesleepy Stour, and that lives even to-day by hear-say i
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