“A very good place to break foolish necks,” thought I; for the riders were coming straight towards me, and a deep ditch ran along the other side of the wall.

To clear the wall and then the ditch would be easy enough; but to clear the ditch and then the wall required as pretty a piece of foolhardy horsemanship as hunters could find.  Out of sheer curiosity to see the end I slackened my walk.  A woman in green was leading the pace.  The man behind was shouting “Don’t try it!  Don’t try it!  Ride round the end!  Wait!  Wait!” But the woman came on as if her horse had the bit.  Then all my mighty, cool stoicism began thumping like a smith’s forge.  The woman was Hortense, with that daring look on her face I had seen come to it in the north land; and her escort, young Lieutenant Blood, with terror as plainly writ on his fan-shaped elbows and pounding gait as if his horse were galloping to perdition.

“Don’t jump!  Head about, Mistress Hillary!” cried the lieutenant.

But Hortense’s lips tightened, the rein tightened, there was that lifting bound into air when horse and rider are one—­the quick paying-out of the rein—­the long, stretching leap—­the backward brace—­and the wall had been cleared.  But Blood’s horse balked the jump, nigh sending him head over into the moat, and seizing the bit, carried its cursing rider down the slope of the field.  In vain the lieutenant beat it about the head and dug the spurs deep.  The beast sidled off each time he headed it up, or plunged at the water’s edge till Mistress Hortense cried out:  “Oh—­please!  I cannot see you risk yourself on that beast!  Oh—­please won’t you ride farther down where I can get back!”

“Ho—­away, then,” calls Blood, mighty glad of that way out of his predicament, “but don’t try the wall here again, Mistress Hillary!  I protest ’tis not safe for you!  Ho—­away, then!  I race you to the end of the wall!”

And off he gallops, never looking back, keen to clear the wall and meet my lady half-way up.  Hortense sat erect, reining her horse and smiling at me.

“And so you would go away without seeing me,” she said, “and I must needs ride you down at the risk of the lieutenant’s neck.”

“’Tis the way of the proud with the humble,” I laughed back; but the laugh had no mirth.

Her face went grave.  She sat gazing at me with that straight, honest look of the wilderness which neither lies nor seeks a lie.

“Your horse is champing to be off, Hortense!”

“Yes—­and if you looked you might see that I am keeping him from going off.”

I smiled at the poor jest as a court conceit.

“Or perhaps, if you tried, you might help me to hold him,” says Hortense, never taking her search from my face.

“And defraud the lieutenant,” said I.

“Ah!” says Hortense, looking away.  “Are you jealous of anything so small?”

I took hold of the bit and quieted the horse.  Hortense laughed.