He turned, therefore, towards the sea gate,
and soon reached the shore. There, westward of the Seaton, where
the fisher folk lived, the sand lay smooth, flat, and wet along the
edge of the receding tide: he gave Kelpie the rein, and she sprang
into a wild gallop, every now and then flinging her heels as high
as her rider's head. But finding, as they approached the stony
part from which rose the great rock called the Bored Craig, that
he could not pull her up in time, he turned her head towards the
long dune of sand which, a little beyond the tide, ran parallel
with the shore. It was dry and loose, and the ascent steep. Kelpie's
hoofs sank at every step, and when she reached the top, with wide
spread struggling haunches, and "nostrils like pits full of blood
to the brim," he had her in hand. She stood panting, yet pawing
and dancing, and making the sand fly in all directions.
Suddenly a woman with a child in her arms rose, as it seemed to
Malcolm, under Kelpie's very head. She wheeled and reared, and,
in wrath or in terror, strained every nerve to unseat her rider,
while, whether from faith or despair, the woman stood still as a
statue, staring at the struggle.
"Haud awa' a bit, Lizzy," cried Malcolm. "She's a mad brute, an'
I mayna be able to haud her. Ye ha'e the bairnie, ye see!"
She was a young woman, with a sad white face.
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