Gnashing his teeth
with fellest rage, he caught from the wall his heaviest hunting-
whip, rushed heedless past his mother where she waited on the
landing, and out of the house.
In common with many, he thought worse of Tom Helmer than he yet
deserved. He was a characterless fool, a trifler, a poetic
babbler, a good-for-nothing good sort of fellow; that was the
worst that as yet was true of him; and better things might with
equal truth have been said of him, had there been any one that
loved him enough to know them.
Godfrey ran to the stable, and to the stall of his fastest horse.
As he threw the saddle over his back, he almost wept in the midst
of his passion at the sight of the bright stirrups. His hands
trembled so that he failed repeatedly in passing the straps
through the buckles of the girths. But the moment he felt the
horse under him, he was stronger, set his head straight for the
village of Warrender, where Tom's mother lived, and went away
over everything. His crow-flight led him across the back of the
house of Durnmelling. Hesper, who had not slept well, and found
the early morning even a worse time to live in than the evening,
saw him from her window, going straight as an arrow. The sight
arrested her. She called Sepia, who for a few nights had slept in
her room, to the window.
"There, now!" she said, "there is a man who looks a man! Good
Heavens! how recklessly he rides! I don't believe Mr.
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