leaps grew longer and longer. Then my head was cleared like a
steamed window-pane in a cold blast. I saw the road curve in front of
me, I put all my strength into the curb, and heeling at a fearful angle
was swept into the busy Kensington Road. For the first time I knew what
it was to fear a horse. The stallion's neck was stretched, his shoes
rang on the cobbles, and my eyes were fixed on a narrow space between
carriages coming together. In a flash I understood why the duke had
insisted upon Hyde Park, and that nerved me some. I saw the frightened
coachmen pulling their horses this way and that, I heard the cries of the
foot-passengers, and then I was through, I know not how. Once more I
summoned all my power, recalled the twist Astley had spoken of, and tried
it. I bent his neck for an inch of rein. Next I got another inch, and
then came a taste--the smallest taste--of mastery like elixir. The
motion changed with it, became rougher, and the hoof-beats a fraction
less frequent. He steered like a ship with sail reduced. In and out we
dodged among the wagons, and I was beginning to think I had him, when
suddenly, without a move of warning, he came down rigid with his feet
planted together, and only a miracle and my tight grip restrained me from
shooting over his head. There he stood shaking and snorting, nor any
persuasion would move him. I resorted at last to the spurs.

He was up in the air in an instant, and came down across the road. Again
I dug in to the rowels, and clung the tighter, and this time he landed
with his head to London. A little knot of people had collected to watch
me, and out stepped a strapping fellow in the King's scarlet, from the
Guard's Horse near by.

"Hold him, sir!" he said, tipping. "Better dismount, sir. He means
murder, y'r honour."

"Keep clear, curse you!" I cried, waving him off. "What time is it?"

He stepped back, no doubt thinking me mad. Some one spoke up and said it
was five minutes past noon. I had the grace to thank him, I believe. To
my astonishment I had been gone but four minutes; they had seemed twenty.
Looking about me, I found I was in the open space before old Kensington
Church, over against the archway there. Once more I dug in the spurs,
this time with success. Almost at a jump the beast took me into the
angle of posts to the east of the churchyard gate and tore up the
footpath of Church Lane, terrified men and women ahead of me taking to
the kennel. He ran irregularly,