trickled slowly from a fearful contused wound towards
the back of the head. His right shoulder, which was crushed out of all
shape, appeared a confused mass of mud and gore, while his right--_his
pistol arm_--lay bent in an unnatural direction, which showed that it
was broken in more places than one. He was perfectly insensible, but
that he was still alive was proved, as well by his hard and painful
breathing, as by a low moan of agony to which he occasionally gave
utterance. "How has this happened?" inquired I, turning away with a
thrill of horror.

"Well, as I make out, the mare crushed him when she fell upon him;
but he knows best, for he saw it all," replied one of the countrymen,
pointing to the groom, who now came forward.

On questioning the servant, I learned that Wilford, before he went out
shooting that morning, had ordered his saddle-horses to be ready for
him at a certain hour, adding, that the black mare, of which mention
has been so often before made in this history, was to be saddled for his
own riding. Immediately after Peter Barnett had returned with the news
of Miss Saville's abduction, Wilford had called for his horses in great
haste, told the servant to follow him, and ridden off at speed, through
fields and along by-lanes, till he arrived at Hardman's mill. There he
was made acquainted (as I knew from the miller's confession) with the
deception which had been practised upon him, and, muttering imprecations
against Cumberland, he started in pursuit, riding at such a pace that
the groom, although well mounted, had the greatest difficulty in keeping
up with him. At length they caught sight of a carriage with four horses
descending the steep hill already mentioned, and proceeding at a rate
which proved that time was a more important consideration than safety
to those it contained. Regardless of the dangerous nature of the ground,
Wilford continued his headlong course, and overtook the fugitives
just at the bottom of the hill. Riding furiously up to the side of
the vehicle, he shouted to the drivers to stop, in a voice hoarse with
passion. Intimidated by his furious gestures, and uncertain whether to
obey or not, the postboys, in their irresolution, slackened their speed,
when Cumberland, urged apparently to desperation, leaned out of the
window with a cocked pistol in his hand, ordered the drivers to
proceed, and turning to Wilford, desired him to give up the pursuit,
or (levelling the pistol at him as