con light for him. That was like him, as well. His horse he
had left down the road.

But the relief of his absence had been good for her, and she was able
to check the shuddering fit which threatened her for a moment. The next,
her ears awoke to a new sound. Something was stumbling heavily about the
patch of garden--some animal. A cropping of grass, a snorting breath,
and more stumbling hoofs, and she knew that Childe Harold had managed
to loosen his bridle and limp out of the shed. The mere sense of his
nearness seemed a sort of protection.

He had limped and stumbled to the front part of the garden before Nigel
heard him. When he did hear, he came out of the house in the humour of
a man the inflaming of whose mood has been cumulative; Childe Harold's
temper also was not to be trifled with. He threw up his head, swinging
the bridle out of reach; he snorted, and even reared with an ugly
lashing of his forefeet.

"Good boy!" whispered Betty. "Do not let him take you--do not!"

If he remained where he was he would attract attention if anyone passed
by. "Fight, Childe Harold, be as vicious as you choose--do not allow
yourself to be dragged back."

And fight he did, with an ugliness of temper he had never shown
before--with snortings and tossed head and lashed--out heels, as if he
knew he was fighting to gain time and with a purpose.

But in the midst of the struggle Nigel Anstruthers stopped suddenly. He
had stumbled again, and risen raging and stained with damp earth. Now
he stood still, panting for breath--as still as he had stood after the
click of the gate. Was he--listening? What was he listening to? Had she
moved in her excitement, and was it possible he had caught the sound?
No, he was listening to something else. Far up the road it echoed,
but coming nearer every moment, and very fast. Another horse--a big
one--galloping hard. Whosoever it was would pass this place; it could
only be a man--God grant that he would not go by so quickly that his
attention would not be arrested by a shriek! Cry out she must--and if
he did not hear and went galloping on his way she would have betrayed
herself and be lost.

She bit off a groan by biting her lip.

"You who died to-day--now--now!"

Nearer and nearer. No human creature could pass by a thing like this--it
would not be possible. And Childe Harold, backing and fighting, scented
the other horse and neighed fiercely and high. The rider was slackening
his pace; he was