were denied
to their lips.

But as they thus rode along, silent and meditative, each occupied with
his own thoughts, there came the assistance for which Thomas Seymour had
prayed, fluttering along in the shape of a fly.

At first this fly sported and buzzed about the nose of the fiery,
proud beast which the queen rode; and as no one noticed it, it was
not disturbed by Hector's tossing of his mane, but crept securely and
quietly to the top of the noble courser's head, pausing a little here
and there, and sinking his sting into the horse's flesh, so that he
reared and began loudly to neigh.

But Catharine was a bold and dexterous rider, and the proud spirit of
her horse only afforded her delight, and gave the master of horse an
opportunity to praise her skill and coolness.

Catharine received with a sweet smile the encomiums of her beloved.
But the fly kept creeping on, and, impelled by a diabolic delight, now
penetrated the horse's ear. The poor, tormented animal made a spring
forward. This spring, instead of freeing him from his enemy, made him
penetrate the ear still farther, and sink his sting still deeper into
the soft fleshy part of the same.

Stung by the maddening pain, the horse cast off all control, and,
heedless of bridle and scorning the bit, dashed forward in a furious
run--forward over the meadow swift as an arrow, resistless as the
lightning.

"On, on, to the queen's rescue!" thundered the master of horse, and with
mad haste, away flew he also over the meadow.

"To the help of the queen!" repeated Princess Elizabeth, and she
likewise spurred her horse and hurried forward, accompanied by the whole
suite.

But what is the speed of a horse ever so swift, but yet in his senses,
compared with the raving madness of a crazy courser, that, despising all
subjection, and mocking at the bridle, dashes ahead, foaming with the
sense of freedom and unrestraint, uncontrollable as the surge lashed by
the storm!

Already far behind them lay the meadows, far behind them the avenues
leading through the woods, and over brooks and ditches, over meadows and
wastes, Hector was dashing on.

The queen still sat firmly in the saddle; her cheeks were colorless; her
lips trembled; but her eye was still bright and clear. She had not yet
lost her presence of mind; she was perfectly conscious of her danger.
The din of screaming, screeching voices, which she heard at first, had
long since died away in silence behind her. An