oom spoke of was a
strongly-barred one of oak timber, nearly five feet high,--its difficulty
as a leap only consisted in the winding approach, and the fact that it
opened upon a hard road beyond it.

In a second or two a kind of half fear came across me. My long illness had
unnerved me, and my limbs felt weak and yielding; but as I pressed into the
canter, that secret sympathy between the horse and his rider shot suddenly
through me, I pressed my spurs to his flanks, and dashed him at it.

Unaccustomed to such treatment, the noble animal bounded madly forward.
With two tremendous plunges he sprang wildly in the air, and shaking his
long mane with passion, stretched out at the gallop.

[Illustration: CHARLEY TRYING A CHARGER.]

My own blood boiled now as tempestuously as his; and with a shout of
reckless triumph, I rose him at the gate. Just at the instant two figures
appeared before it,--the copse had concealed their approach hitherto,--but
they stood now as if transfixed. The wild attitude of the horse, the not
less wild cry of his rider, had deprived them for a time of all energy; and
overcome by the sudden danger, they seemed rooted to the ground. What I
said, spoke, begged, or imprecated, Heaven knows--not I. But they stirred
not! One moment more and they must lie trampled beneath my horse's
hoofs,--he was already on his haunches for the bound,--when, wheeling half
aside, I faced him at the wall. It was at least a foot higher and of solid
stone masonry, and as I did so I felt that I was perilling my life to save
theirs. One vigorous dash of the spur I gave him, as I lifted him to the
leap. He bounded beneath it quick as lightning; still, with a spring like
a rocket, he rose into the air, cleared the wall, and stood trembling and
frightened on the road outside.

"Safe, by Jupiter! and splendidly done, too," cried a voice near me, that I
immediately recognized as Sir George Dashwood's.

"Lucy, my love, look up,--Lucy, my dear, there's no danger now. She has
fainted! O'Malley, fetch some water,--fast. Poor fellow, your own nerves
seem shaken. Why, you've let your horse go! Come here, for Heaven's sake!
Support her for an instant. I'll fetch some water."

It appeared to me like a dream; I leaned against the pillar of the gate;
the cold and death-like features of Lucy Dashwood lay motionless upon my
arm; her hand, falling heavily upon my shoulder, touched my cheek. The
tramp of my horse, as he galloped onward, was