bunch of them, swerving round Tattenham Corner and
thundering down the incline towards the winning post.... The King's
horse seemed to be leading, another few seconds would have brought
it or one of its rivals past the winning post, when ... a slender
figure, a woman, darted with equal swiftness from the barrier to the
middle of the course, leapt to the neck of the King's horse, and in
an instant, the horse was down, kneeling on a crumpled woman, and
the jockey was flying through the air to descend on hands and knees
practically unhurt. The other horses rushed by, miraculously
avoiding the prostrate figures. Some horse passed the winning post,
a head in front of some other, but no one seemed to care. The race
was fouled. Vivie noted thirty seconds--approximately--of amazed,
horrified silence. Then a roar of mingled anger, horror, enquiry
went up from the crowd of many thousands. "It's the Suffragettes"
shouted some one. And up to then Vivie had not thought of connecting
this unprecedented act with the purposed protest of Emily Wilding
Davison. She sprang to her feet, and shouting to all who might have
tried to stop her "I'm a friend of the lady. I am a doctor"--she
didn't care what lie she told--she was soon authoritatively pushing
through the ring of police constables who like warrior ants had
surrounded the victims of the protest--the shivering, trembling
horse, now on its legs, the pitifully crushed, unconscious
woman--her hat hanging to the tresses of her hair by a dislodged
hat-pin, her thin face stained with blood from surface punctures.
The jockey was being carried from the course, still unconscious, but
not badly hurt.

A great surgeon happening to be at Epsom Race course on a friend's
drag, had hurried to offer his services. He was examining the
unconscious woman and striving very gently to straighten and
disentangle her crooked body. Presently there was a respectful stir
in the privileged ring, and Vivie was conscious by the raising of
hats that the King stood amongst them looking down on the woman who
had offered up her life before his eyes to enforce the Woman's
appeal. He put his enquiries and offered his suggestions in a low
voice, but Vivie withdrew, less with the fear that her right to be
there and her connection with the tragedy might be questioned, as
from some instinctive modesty. The occasion was too momentous for
the presence of a supernumerary. Emily Wilding Davison should have
her audience of h