“No, you couldn’t hold her; she’ll be over the hedge if I let go of her.  Get down if you can.”

It was not easy.  Beatrice was in her habit, and to jump from the vacillating height of a dog-cart to the earth is no easy matter even to a man unencumbered with petticoats.

“Try and get over the back,” said her uncle, who was in momentary terror lest the mare’s heels should be dashed into her face.  And Beatrice, with that finest trait of a woman’s courage in danger, which consists in doing exactly what she is told, began to scramble over the back of her seat.

The situation was critical in the extreme; the traction engine came on apace, the man with the red flag having paused at a public-house round the corner, was only now running back into his place.  Uncle Tom shouted vainly to him; his voice was drowned in the deafening roar of the advancing monster.

But already help was at hand, unheard and unperceived by either uncle or niece; a horseman had come rapidly trotting up the road behind them.  To spring from his horse, who was apparently accustomed to traction engines, and stood quietly by, to rush to the plunging, struggling mare, and to seize her by the head was the work of a moment.

“All right, Mr. Esterworth,” shouted the new comer.  “I can hold her if you can get down; we can lead her into the field; there is a gate ten yards back.”

Uncle Tom threw the reins to his niece and slipped to the ground; between them the two men contrived to quiet the terrified Clochette, and to lead her towards the gate.

In another three minutes they were all safely within the shelter of the hedge.  The traction engine passed, snorting forth fire and smoke, on its devastating way; and Clochette stood by, panting, trembling, and covered with foam.  Beatrice, safely on the ground, was examining ruefully the amount of damage done to the dog-cart, and Mr. Esterworth was shaking hands with his deliverer.

It was Herbert Pryme.

“That’s the last time I ever take a lady out, driving without a man-servant behind me,” quoth the M.F.H.  “What we should have done without your timely assistance, sir, I really cannot say; in another minute she would have kicked the trap into a thousand bits.  You have saved my niece’s life, Mr. Pryme.”

“Indeed, I did very little,” said Herbert, modestly, glancing at Beatrice who was trembling and rather pale; but, perhaps, that was only from her recent fright.  She had not spoken to him, only she had given him one bewildered glance, and then had looked hastily away.

“You have saved her life,” repeated Mr. Esterworth, with decision.  “I hope you do not mean to contradict my words, sir?  You have saved Beatrice’s life, sir, and it’s the most providential thing in this world for you, as Clochette very nearly kicked her to pieces under your nose.  I shall tell Mr. and Mrs. Miller that they are indebted to you for their daughter’s life.  Young people, I am going to lead this brute of a mare home, and, if you like to walk on together to Lutterton in front of me, why you may.”