Page:Idalia, by 'Ouida' volume 3.djvu/19

8 They were alone; the pursuit could not reach them for seconds at least—seconds, precious in that extremity as years. The clamour and tumult of the monastery pealed from the height above; but few of the brethren he reckoned would dare to risk the peril of descent in the blackness of midnight, the few that would must be some moments yet before they could be on him. In the shadow of the cypresses stood the horses, held by a German lad, and eased by rest till they were fresh as though they had not left their stalls.

Without words, she threw herself into the saddle; she had ridden stirrupless ere then across the brown dark desolation of the Campagna in an autumn night, with the Papal troops out against her. Idalia was of that nature to which danger is as strong wine. Her face was pale to the lips, but resolute as any soldier*s on the eve of victory; her hair shaken down rested in great masses that gleamed golden in the flickering light; her right hand still held the pistol as though it were some love-gage that she treasured close, and the fairness of her face was set calm as death, resolute as steel, even while her eyes burned, and glowed, and dilated with the ardent fire of war, and with a look sweeter than that which swept over him like a sorcery.