'Twas on the morning of the fourth day there befel them a strange
adventure, and one which had near ended in dark tragedy for one human
being at least.
The horse his lordship rode was a beautiful fiery creature, and
sometimes from sheer pleasure in his spirit, his master would spur him
to a wild gallop in which he went like the wind's self, showing a joy
in the excitement of it which was beauteous to behold. When this fourth
morning they had been but about an hour upon the road, Roxholm gave to
the creature's glossy neck the touch which was the signal 'twas his
delight to answer.
"Watch him shoot forward like an arrow from a bow," my lord said to Mr.
Fox, and the next instant was yards away.
He flew like the wind, his hoofs scarce seeming to touch the earth as
he sped forward, my lord sitting like a Centaur, his face aglow with
pleasure, even Mr. Fox's soberer animal taking fire somewhat and
putting himself at a gallop, his rider's elderly blood quickening with
his.
One side of the road they were upon was higher than the other and
covered with a wood, and as Mr. Fox followed at some distance he beheld
a parlous sight. At a turn in the way, down the bank, there rushed a
woman, a frantic figure, hair flying, garments disordered, and with a
shriek flung herself full length upon the earth before my lord
Marquess's horse, as if with the intent that the iron hoofs should dash
out her brains as they struck ground again.
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