On
he galloped, with the blood throbbing in his young veins, over miles of
plain, with the dark-blue, star-studded sky above, and the pale moon
shining down on him--past a silent shepherd's hut, which stood near a
wide creek; splashing through the cool water, which wound through the
dark plain like a thread of silver in the moonlight--then, again, the
wide, grassy plain, dotted here and there with tall clumps of shadowy
trees, and on either side he could see the sheep skurrying away like
fantastic spectres--on--on--ever on, until his own homestead
appears, and he sees the star-like light shining brightly in the
distance--a long avenue of tall trees, over whose wavering shadows his
horse thundered, and then the wide grassy space in front of the house,
with the clamorous barking of dogs. A groom, roused by the clatter of
hoofs up the avenue, comes round the side of the house, and Brian leaps
off his horse, and flinging the reins to the man, walks into his own
room. There he finds a lighted lamp, brandy and soda on the
table, and a packet of letters and newspapers. He flung his hat on the
sofa, and opened the window and door, so as to let in the cool breeze;
then mixing for himself a glass of brandy and soda, he turned up the
lamp, and prepared to read his letters. The first he took up was from a
lady. "Always a she correspondent for me," says Isaac Disraeli,
"provided she does not cross." Brian's correspondence did not cross,
but notwithstanding this, after reading half a page of small talk and
scandal, he flung the letter on the table with an impatient
ejaculation.
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