hestnut at a
ditch? you wouldn't be afraid, eh?"

"Not the least in the world," said Gwendolen. And that was true: she
was never fearful in action and companionship. "I have often taken him
at some rails and a ditch too, near--"

"Ah, by Jove!" said his lordship, quietly, in notation that something
was happening which must break off the dialogue: and as he reined off
his horse, Rex was bringing his sober hackney up to Gwendolen's side
when--the hounds gave tongue, and the whole field was in motion as if
the whirl of the earth were carrying it; Gwendolen along with
everything else; no word of notice to Rex, who without a second thought
followed too. Could he let Gwendolen go alone? under other
circumstances he would have enjoyed the run, but he was just now
perturbed by the check which had been put on the impetus to utter his
love, and get utterance in return, an impetus which could not at once
resolve itself into a totally different sort of chase, at least with
the consciousness of being on his father's gray nag, a good horse
enough in his way, but of sober years and ecclesiastical habits.
Gwendolen on her spirited little chestnut was up with the best, and
felt as secure as an immortal goddess, having, if she had thought of
risk, a core of confidence that no ill luck would happen to her. But
she thought of no such thing, and certainly not of any risk there might
be for her cousin. If she had thought of him, it would have struck her
as a droll picture that he should be gradually falling behind, and
looking round in search of gates: a fine lithe youth, whose heart must
be panting with all the spirit of a beagle, stuck as if under a
wizard's spell on a stiff clerical hackney, would have made her laugh
with a sense of fun much too strong for her to reflect on his
mortification. But Gwendolen was apt to think rather of those who saw
her than of those whom she could not see; and Rex was soon so far
behind that if she had looked she would not have seen him. For I grieve
to say that in the search for a gate, along a lane lately mended,
Primrose fell, broke his knees, and undesignedly threw Rex over his
head.

Fortunately a blacksmith's son who also followed the hounds under
disadvantages, namely, on foot (a loose way of hunting which had struck
some even frivolous minds as immoral), was naturally also in the rear,
and happened to be within sight of Rex's misfortune. He ran to give
help which was greatly needed, for Rex was