“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 word,” said De Lacy, “free yourself from the pommel and catch me around the neck.”

The Countess nodded.  “I understand,” she said, and gave a quick look forward.  The hill was getting very near.

He reached over and wound his right arm about her slender waist.  “Now!” he said sharply.

For a second the Countess hung in the air between the plunging horses; then the bay shot ahead alone—­and she rested safely across De Lacy’s saddle, his arms about her and hers about his neck.

Of his own accord the black had instantly slackened speed, and now at the word he stopped, and the Countess dropped lightly to the ground.

“How can I ever thank you?” she said, giving Sir Aymer her hand.

“By not trying to,” he answered, dismounting and kissing her fingers almost reverently.  “Fortune has already blessed me over much.”