and swiftly lessened the distance between him and
Rupert, who heard his approach before Ida did, and who neighed a
welcome. Ida turned and saw who was following her, saw Stafford just
behind, and gathering her reins together she rode Rupert quickly to the
top of the hill.

"Miss Heron!" cried Maude, in a voice of covert insolence, but almost
open triumph. "Miss Heron, stop, please!"

Ida did stop for a moment, then, feeling that it was impossible for her
to meet them, that day, at any rate, she let Rupert go again. By this
time, Stafford had almost gained Maude's side. His face was dark with
anger, his teeth clenched tightly. He knew that Maude intended to
flaunt her possession of him before Ida. In a low but perfectly
distinct voice, he said:

"Stop, Maude! Do not follow her." She looked over her shoulder at him,
her face flushed, her eyes flashing.

"Why not?" she demanded, scornfully. "Is she afraid, or is it you who
are afraid? Both, perhaps? We shall see!"

Before he could catch her rein she had struck Adonis twice with the
sharp, cutting whip, and with a shake of his head and a snort of rage
and resentment, he stood on his haunches for a moment, then leapt
forward and began to race down the hill. Stafford saw that the horse
had bolted, either from fear or anger; he knew that it would only
increase Maude's peril if he galloped in pursuit behind her; he,
therefore, checked his horse and made, in a slanting line, for a point
towards which he judged Adonis would go. Maude was swaying in her
saddle, in which she could only keep herself by clutching at the
pommel; it seemed every moment as if she must fall, as if the horse
itself must fall and throw her like a stone down the steep hill.

Ida, the moment she had got over the top of the hill, had ridden
quickly, and, of course, quite fearlessly and safely, and had got
Rupert so well in hand, as usual, that when she heard the clatter
behind her, and, turning, saw the peril in which Maude had put herself,
she was able to pull Rupert up. It was almost a repetition of what had
occurred the other day; but this time Maude Falconer's peril was
infinitely greater; for her horse was half mad and tearing down the
steep hill-side, rendered doubly dangerous by the loose stones, and was
all too evidently indifferent whether he stood or fell. And yet another
risk lay just below; for William had been digging in that spot for
stones to mend the bank, and even if the maddened horse