though yet immature crops; nor did she cast even a passing glance at any one of those green spots which every lane offers, and upon which the eye of the traveller ordinarily delights to linger.  She rode beneath a natural avenue of trees, whose branches met overhead like the arches of a cathedral, and was scarcely conscious of their pleasant shade.  She heard neither the song of the wooing thrush, nor the cry of the startled blackbird, nor the evening hymn of the soaring lark.  Alike to her was the gorse-covered common, along which they swiftly speeded, and the steep hill-side up which they more swiftly mounted.  She breathed not the delicious fragrance of the new-mown hay, nor listened to the distant lowing herds, the bleating sheep, or the cawing rooks.  She thought of nothing but her perilous situation,—­heard nothing but the voice of Rochester,—­felt nothing but the terror inspired by his presence.

As the earl did not desire to pass through any village, if he could help it, his guide led him along the most unfrequented roads; but in spite of his caution, an interruption occurred which had nearly resulted in Amabel’s deliverance.  While threading a narrow lane, they came suddenly upon a troop of haymakers, in a field on the right, who, up to that moment, had been hidden from view by the high hedges.  On seeing them, Amabel screamed loudly for assistance, and was instantly answered by their shouts.  Rochester ordered his men to gallop forward, but the road winding round the meadow, the haymakers were enabled to take a shorter cut and intercept them.  Leaping the hedge, a stout fellow rushed towards Amabel’s conductor, and seized the bridle of his steed.  He was followed by two others, who would have instantly liberated the captive girl, if the earl had not, with great presence of mind, cried out, “Touch her not, as you value your lives!  She is ill of the plague!”

At this formidable announcement, which operated like magic upon Amabel’s defenders, and made them fall back more quickly than the weapons of the earl’s attendants could have done, they retreated, and communicating their fears to their comrades, who were breaking through the hedge in all directions, and hurrying to their aid, the whole band took to their heels, and, regardless of Amabel’s continued shrieks, never stopped till they supposed themselves out of the reach of infection.  The earl was thus at liberty to pursue his way unmolested, and laughing heartily at the success of his stratagem, and at the consternation he had created among the haymakers, pressed forward.

Nothing further occurred till, in crossing the little river Ock, near Lyford, the horse ridden by Amabel’s conductor missed its footing, and precipitated them both into the water.  No ill consequences followed the accident.  Throwing himself into the shallow stream, Rochester seized Amabel, and placed her beside him on his own steed.  A deathly paleness overspread her countenance, and a convulsion shook her frame as she was thus brought into contact with the earl, who, fearing the immersion might prove dangerous in her present delicate state of health, quickened his pace to procure assistance.  Before he had proceeded a hundred yards, Amabel fainted.  Gazing at her with admiration, and pressing her inanimate frame to his breast, Rochester imprinted a passionate kiss on her cheek.