XV.

Whose was the fault, the blame?

She has fled and left him free,

Free! but a stain of shame

Rests on the proud old name.

At a bitter cost she has set him free —

Free! with a blemished fame.

And he with the pride of his race,

With a resolute, calm control,

Locks in his heart the heart's disgrace,

Shows of his shame no subtlest trace,

Hiding the hurt of a stricken soul

‘ Neath the calm of a passionless face.

He had deemed it a cowardly thing to fly

While the village prated anent his shame,

And an added blot on his noble name

By his own hand to die.

But oft in the deep of night I hear

Borne on the wild night wind,

The beat of the mare's hoofs thundering past,

And my heart is clutched by an icy fear

Of a direful thing that may chance at last;

For ride he never so far, so fast —

Black Care rides hard behind.