The
courser dashed willingly forward, and seemed to share his master's
desire to quit the arid and exhausting wilderness.
More than once the unhappy fugitive debated whether he should not allow
himself to drop from his seat and die; no torture that could await him
at Hamadan but seemed preferable to the prolonged and inexpressible
anguish which he now endured. As he rushed along, leaning on his
bearer's neck, he perceived a patch of the desert that seemed of a
darker colour than the surrounding sand. Here, he believed, might
perhaps be found water. He tried to check the steed, but with difficulty
he succeeded, and with still greater difficulty dismounted. He knelt
down, and feebly raked up the sand with his hands. It was moist. He
nearly fainted over his fruitless labour. At length, when he had dug
about a foot deep, there bubbled up some water. He dashed in his hand,
but it was salt as the ocean. When the horse saw the water his ears
rose, but, when he smelt it, he turned away his head, and neighed most
piteously.
'Alas, poor beast!' exclaimed Alroy, 'I am the occasion of thy
suffering, I, who would be a kind master to thee, if the world would let
me. Oh, that we were once more by my own fair fountain! The thought is
madness.
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