answered, pulling up.

"Then save Mademoiselle Veret. I'll take my chance."

This blunt speech moved me, the more especially as the man was French. I
could not allow him to point the way of duty to me--an Englishman.

"Assist her up, then. Now, Mademoiselle, put your arms round me and hold
hard for your life. Lureau, you may hold my stirrup if you agree to
loose it when you tire."

"I will do so," he promised.

Hampered thus, I but slowly gained on Natalie and Edith, whose ponies
had galloped a mile before they could be stopped.

"Forward, forward!" I shouted when within hail. "Don't wait for me. Ride
on at top speed. Lash your ponies with the bridle-reins."

We were all moving on now at an easy canter, for I could not go fast so
long as Lureau held my stirrup, and the girls in front did not seem
anxious to leave me far behind. Besides, the tangled underwood and
overhanging creepers rendered hard riding both difficult and dangerous.
The ponies were hard held, but notwithstanding this my horse fell back
gradually in the race, and the hammering of the hoofs in front grew
fainter. The breath of the runner at my stirrup came in great sobs. He
was suffocating, but he struggled on a little longer. Then he threw up
his hand and gasped:

"I am done. Go on, Marcel. You deserve to escape. Don't desert the
girl."

"May God desert me if I do," I answered. "And do you keep on as long as
you can. You may reach the shore after all."

"Go on--save her!" he gasped, and then from sheer exhaustion fell
forward on his face.

"Sit still, Mademoiselle," I cried, pulling the French girl's arms round
me in time to prevent her from throwing herself purposely from the
horse. Then I drove in my spurs hard, and, being now released from
Lureau's grasp, I overtook the ponies.

For five minutes we all rode on abreast. And then the darkness began to
break, and a strange dawn glimmered over the tree-tops, although the
hour of midnight was still to come. A wild, red light, like that of a
fiery sunset in a hazy summer evening, spread over the night sky. The
quivering stars grew pale. Constellation after constellation, they were
blotted out until the whole arc of heaven was a dull red glare. The
horses were dismayed by this strange phenomenon, and dashed the froth
from their foaming muzzles as they galloped now without stress of spur
at their best speed. Birds that could not sing found voice, and
chattered and shrieked as they dashed from t