It had never flashed upon the heated brain of the malignant knight that wounding a horse was a very delicate operation to perform, and in his reckless hurry he had never taken into account that such conduct would be attended with any danger, or he would have proceeded to accomplish his design in a more cautious fashion; and it was not until the horse kicked out after the first blow that Sir Henry de la Zouch became suddenly aware of the danger of his position.  He had not the power to stay the second thrust, and before he could retreat out of danger he was sent sprawling into the hedge bottom.

Fortunately, the effects of the blow were considerably diminished, inasmuch as its greatest force was already spent ere De la Zouch was struck.  Had it not been for this circumstance he would have come off ill indeed, but even as it was he was sorely injured, and lay insensible in the place where he had fallen until he opened his eyes at dusk and found himself being lifted up.

“Where am I?” he gasped, as he mechanically rubbed his eyes and gazed around.  “I am hurt.”

“Lie still awhile,” returned Crowleigh, for he it was who stood over him.  “You will be yourself again directly,” and raising his horn to his lips he blew a loud, clear note upon the still evening air.

“What does that portend?” asked the conscience-stricken and mistrustful knight.  He feared that he was about to be carried off to answer for his misdeeds.

“There will be help soon,” said Crowleigh.  “Lie still, for you are hurt.  You will be better by-and-by.  Drink this,” and he filled his horn with water and offered it to him.

De la Zouch took the water and drank it off.  It appeared to do him good, for he rapidly rallied, and the reassuring words of Crowleigh had a magical effect in clearing his brow and helping on his recovery.

“Am I much hurt?” he inquired with a look of intense agony upon his brow.

“Bruised and stunned, I think, that is all.  Ha, here they come;” and, as he suddenly stopped speaking, the sound of the replying horns could be distinctly heard, and within a few minutes, from different quarters, over walls and fences, the horsemen came riding in by ones and twos until at last there numbered a full dozen.

“Oh!” groaned De la Zouch, loudly, “it is painful, cannot you relieve me?”

“Where is Sir George Vernon?” inquired Sir Everard; “have none of you seen him of late?”

No one had, but they had all blown their horns, so he was sure to be in soon.

De la Zouch shuddered at the mention of the King of the Peak—­he was hardly himself again as yet, but he was fast rallying, and by the time that the baron arrived he was quite ready to meet him.

“Heigho! found at last;” exclaimed the baron, as he made his way through the group.  “But whom have we here; tush, where is my Doll?”

De la Zouch, for answer, began to play his game, and he only replied to the query with a deceitful and prolonged groan.