"Who? God rest his soul, he had many names. He was Wild Jack Barnstaple,
alias John Johnstone of Belton, alias Daredevil Jack of the North."
"For the sake of all that is sacred, hold your tongue!" shouted the
squire, who had caught the last words.
He was too late. With a wild hoarse cry that none who heard it ever
forgot, Betty flung wide her arms, and fell back on her saddle. The
terrified horse galloped furiously forward, throwing her from side to
side, then violently to the ground at the foot of the gallows.
In horror the gentlemen surrounded her, and raised her inanimate form
between them.
But it was long and very late before they could get her home.
After long hours her body awoke to life, but her brain was gone.
Heartbroken, mind gone, in very sooth mad, what remained for sweet Betty
now.
Travellers passing by would point to the parsonage wall, and
sorrowfully tell her story. Some more curious than the rest would
perhaps stop to look through the gate.
A strange sight met their eyes.
As beautiful as ever, with a strange fearful beauty, stood Betty, her
hands hanging clasped before her, and she sang to herself softly,
dreamily:
"Call him, call him over the lea,
Aye, well and well-a-day;
Lover will never come back to thee
Who loves and gallops away.
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