almost certain destruction awaits him at the
point towards which he is riding so carelessly.

Dulce, turning her head accidentally in his direction, is the first to
see him.

"Oh, see there!" she cries, in a frightened tone, to Roger, pointing to
the lower part of the field. "Who is that going to take Gort's Fall?"

Roger, following her glance, pulls up short, and stares fixedly at the
man below, now drawing terribly near to the condemned spot. And, as he
looks, his face changes, the blood forsakes it, and a horrified
expression creeps into his eyes.

"By Jove! it is Stephen," he says at last, in an indescribable tone; and
then, knowing he cannot reach him in time to prevent the coming
catastrophe, he stands up in his stirrups and shouts to the unconscious
Stephen, with all the strength of his fresh, young lungs, to turn back
before it is too late.

But all in vain; Stephen either does not or cannot hear. He has by this
time reached the wall; his horse, the gallant animal, responds to his
touch. He rises--there is a crash, a dull thud, and then all is still.

Involuntarily Dulce has covered her eyes with her hand, and by a supreme
effort has suppressed the cry that has risen from her heart. A sickening
sensation of weakness is overpowering her. When at length she gains
courage to open her eyes again she finds Roger has forsaken her, and is
riding like one possessed across the open field, and--there beyond,
where the sun is glinting in small patches upon the dry grass, she sees,
too, a motionless mass of scarlet cloth, and a dark head lying--oh! so
strangely quiet.

Roger having safely cleared the unlucky wall higher up, has flung
himself from his saddle, and is now on his knees beside Gower, and has
lifted his head upon his arm.

"Stephen, Stephen!" he cries, brokenly. But Stephen is beyond hearing.
He is quite insensible, and deaf to the voice that in the old days used
to have a special charm for him. Laying him gently down again, Roger
rises to his feet, and looks wildly round. Dulce has arrived by this
time and, having sprung to her feet, has let her horse, too, go to the
winds.

"He is not dead?" she asks at first, in a ghastly whisper, with pale and
trembling lips.

"I don't know, I'm not sure," says Roger, distractedly. "Oh, if somebody
would _only_ come!"

Not a soul is in sight. By this time every one has disappeared over the
hill, and not a human being is to be seen far or near.

"Have you no br