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.She sank to her knees and panted for some seconds, before getting up again and driving herself onwards.Now she had some slight protection from the teeming rain, but at the same time she was surrounded by noise as the branches swung to and fro, every so often catching her searing blows across the head.She panted, and fell, and got up again, and ran again, and fell again, and knew she had torn her gown.How big the plantation was.She had never been farther than the Grandstand, except on horseback.Now it seemed to last for ever, so that she was sure she was running round and round in circles, although that was impossible, because the groves were numbered and signposted, and she could keep a track of her progress.But the noise of the rain and the swaying of the branches obliterated all other sound, and she could not tell how close her pursuers might be, until she suddenly heard the report of a rifle, booming through the night.Were they calling to each other, saying they had found her trail ? Or were they calling to her?But the report had been distant.A moment later the banana groves ended, and she gazed at the slope which led up to the cluster of cedars which marked the river.She wondered what time it was.It had been just after midnight when she had made her escape from tie house.She seemed to have been stumbling onwards for ever.Her head hurt and her back hurt and her belly hurt and her legs felt like lumps of lead; she dared not think of her feet - it seemed every pebble and every thorn on the plantation had attacked her insteps.And however dark it was, it could not now be far off dawn.And her pursuers were close behind.She climbed the slope on her hands and knees, looked down on the river, and felt her heart give a great lurch of dismay.Three days' rain had been sufficient to turn the always fast-running stream into a tumbling, foaming torrent.And it would have increased the depth as well.She forced herself to her feet, half ran and half fell down the slope, once again sank to her knees as she gazed at the rushing water.She was so tired.To attempt to cross here would be to commit suicide.And why not, she wondered.Could there be a better place to die than here, where she had known so much happiness? And was there really any point in continuing to live?She was Margaret Hilton.There was Richard and Aline to be thought of, to be regained.And there was Alan.She followed the stream, looking for the ford.But the ford itself was flooded with rushing water, and from a few inches deep it had risen clearly to a few feet.She turned her face up to the sky, allowed the water to flood her cheeks and eyes and ears, opened her mouth to allow it to trickle down her parched throat.And heard the rifle again, and closer.She stumbled into the water, gazing at the darkness which was the farther side.Only there mattered.The river thudded into her ankles and then her knees, and she lost her balance, regained it with a desperate surge of strength.Then she suddenly sank to her waist and lost her footing altogether.Instantly the water picked her up, threw her over, seemed to toss her into the air with playful malevolence, before sucking her down.She struck the bottom even as she lost the last of her breath, then forced herself back to the surface, gasping, arms flailing, rolling over and over and taking water in through her mouth and nose, striking out with her arms in desperation, and slashing her fingers across a series of branches.Desperately she clutched, and felt the sodden wood tearing through her fingers.Then they lodged again, and her back struck something, and she was wedged, the water still pulling at her and seeming to be driving right through her, but able to keep her head free and to breathe, and to wait, while the exhaustion threatened to overwhelm her, and while she gathered her mind for one last mighty effort to free herself or to he there until she drowned.She awoke to a feeling of blessed warmth seeping through her bones.For a moment she did not know where she was, then the memory came flooding back and she frantically grasped at the trailing branches yet again, discovered she was digging her fingers into the earth.She was on dry land.At least, the land was rapidly drying as the sun rose noon high; for the moment the clouds had cleared.Then she did not know where she was.She raised her head, scooped hair from her eyes, found that her fingers were also coated with mud, and gazed at feet.Black feet, naked, and mud stained.Oh, God, she thought.They had, after all, caught up with her.Her head flopped forward, nestled into the rain-softened earth.She was so tired.Every muscle in her body seemed to be weighted with lead, and her head swung, while her empty stomach ached for food.And they had caught up with her.She would be returned to Hilltop, in ignominy, to have her guard no doubt doubled in the future, while the rumours would be spread all over Jamaica of how the Madwoman had attempted to escape.Someone knelt by her head.'Miss Meg?' a voice asked.'It is really you?'Meg's head jerked as if he had pulled her hair.She blinked tears from her eyes, gazed at Cleave [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]