Theodore Winthrop

“ A clearing again. Shame, Volante! Are you a ploughman’s horse, that you labor so clumsily in these furrows? See that horrible glow upon the sky! This wood hides it again. Idle forest! why was it not burned clean from the ground a century ago? Everything baffles. No, Volante! No turning aside for this windrow! Over, over! Through, through, and now straight on! Yes; the hill is steep, but we must gallop down it. No stumbling. What! another wall, and higher? You shrink! No, — you must. She shall not burn! Now, God help us! Down? No; up and off! ”

“ This is a road fit for a lady’s summer-evening canter. Shake out, Volante! Let me see your stride! Show your Lincolnshire blood! The winner in this race wins Life, — Life, do you hear? Wake up there, you farmers! Turn out and help! Fire at Brothertoft Manor. Fire!
“Faster, faster! Are we too late? Never! I see the glow brighten against the sky; but the night is still as death; fire will move slow. ”