and both
Knights cried out.

"A woman!" said De Lacy.

"The Countess!" exclaimed Dacre. "What may it mean?"

"She went riding with Lord Darby shortly after mid-day," said Aymer.

"And that is Darby," added Dacre, as the sun hit the second horseman.
"Pardieu! I do not understand--it cannot be she is fleeing from him."

They drew rein, and watched the approaching pair.

"Well, if she is, she is succeeding," Aymer observed. "She is gaining
on him at every jump. St. Denis! how that horse of hers can run!"

"It is Wilda, the bay mare I spoke of. But see, Darby still waves.
What in Heaven's name ails the man? Can it be the mare has bolted?"

De Lacy shook his head. "The Countess is making no effort to control
her; the reins are hanging loose."

Then they heard the first faint beat of the hoofs, growing louder and
louder, and presently with it Darby's cry:

"Stop her! Stop her!"

"Maybe, my lord," said De Lacy, leaning forward, his eyes intent upon
the Countess; "if the lady wish it she will signal."

Two hundred yards away now came Wilda running at terrific speed, but
straight and true. Suddenly De Lacy swung Selim around.

"It is a runaway," he called to Dacre, "the reins are useless." And
even as he said it the Countess told him the same by a motion of her
hand.

A moment more and she swept between them; but beside her went the
black, leap for leap with the bay. Then Aymer saw the trouble--the bit
had broken in the bar, tearing the mouth badly, and from each
cheek-strap dangled a useless half, which striking the frightened mare
on the muzzle kept driving her to top speed.

The Countess gave De Lacy a quick smile.

"I am trying to enjoy it," she said, "but I think I am dreadfully
frightened."

Aymer glanced at the road--it was straight and level for another four
hundred yards, then it disappeared, and he remembered it pitched
sharply forward in a rough and twisting descent. Whatever he did must
be done quickly--no horse ever foaled could carry its rider down that
declivity at such a speed.

"Death waits yonder," he said, pointing to the brow of the hill. "I
must lift you to my saddle. Will you risk it?"

She hesitated; then suddenly loosed her foot from the stirrup.

"I am ready," she said--and smiled again.

De Lacy dropped his reins.

"Closer, Selim, closer," he commanded.

The black; drew over until his master's boot was pressing the
Countess's saddle girth.

"When I give the