Mr. Tremaine was precipitated head foremost into the hole, with his heels in the air, and Lilla at the same moment coming to a halt in her acrobatic descent, beheld the apparition of a pair of legs, feet upwards, and a coarse pair of knickerbocker stockings dragged over the boots.

“Who has muffed in now?  Gracious goodness, I knit those stockings; it is the Governor!  Pull him out—­quick, quick, Captain Delamere; he’ll have a fit!”

That individual, who had just scrambled out, was standing rather dazed, ruefully stanching the cuts on his face.  Between them they soon dragged out Mr. Tremaine, half suffocated, and puffing and panting like a demented steam-engine, but by the time he had recovered his breath not much the worse.

The toboggining was getting fast and furious, and several casualties occurred.  The toiler up the hill, too, had need of all his alertness to dodge the numerous erratic cars tearing down in every direction.

An adventurous group were tying a dozen or more toboggins together, which they called an omnibus; and Jack Vavasour, in the character of conductor, was holding up his hand, and cadging for passengers.

“Any more for the Brook or Gore Vale?  Room for two still in the ‘Lightning’ ’bus!  No more?—­then we are off.  Link arms, ladies and gentlemen;” and the unwieldy apparatus was started.  The couplings divided half-way down.  About seven reached the bottom, the remaining five were upset, and were left there.  Cecil was in the latter division, and having extricated herself from the debris, slowly ascended the hill.

She was rather tired now, and slightly bored; and began wondering what had become of her escort.  He had not been in the coach, nor was he among the noisy, chattering party approaching her.

“Has anyone seen Captain Du Meresq?” asked she.

“Ten minutes ago he was death on the big jump,” said Jack.  “He took Delamere to start him; and I think Miss Tremaine went too.”

A shade passed over Cecil’s face.  “Would you ask him, Mr. Vavasour, to get the sleigh?  It is quite time we were going.”

Another quarter of an hour passed, but no signs of Jack or Bertie.  Cecil kept up a desultory conversation with Mrs. Anderson; but a vague impatience and restlessness came over her.  She looked in the direction of the big jump, and it seemed to her a point of attraction that gathered up the stragglers, who all converged towards it.  There was quite a crowd there now.  Mrs. Anderson’s platitudes became maddening.  Then she observed Lilla coming from the same direction, and beckoning.  She sprang to meet her.

“Cecil,” cried Lilla, “don’t be frightened.”  Why do people always use this agitating formula?  “But the fact is poor Bertie has had an awful cropper.  Good gracious, Cecil! don’t look like that!  Are you going to faint!  He is not so very much hurt,—­stunned a bit at first.”

“How was it?” said the other, breathing again, and pressing forward.