e last feature of all; the ride formed again, and, suddenly
quickening their pace to a full gallop, started upon the circuit of the
hall. They swept around the circle at a sharp gallop, the clanking
spurs and rattling sabres keeping time to the roar of the music. Anita
was riding like a bird on the wing and Pretty Maid, who had behaved
with her usual grace and decorum, opening and shutting her stride like
a machine. Just as she got in front of the C. O.'s box the mare
suddenly lost her head. She hesitated, bringing her four feet together
in a way that would have thrown over her head a rider less expert than
Anita. Behind her the line of riders was thrown into slight confusion
with the unexpected halt.

The movements of animals are so much quicker than those of men that the
eye can scarcely follow them. One instant Anita was in her saddle; the
next Pretty Maid stopped, crouched, gave a wild spring, fell prone on
her knees, and rolled over, struggling violently. Anita, half thrown
and half slipped from her saddle, was on the tanbark, directly in front
of Gamechick.

She straightened out her slim figure full length, and closed her eyes.
Broussard's horse was then not six feet away from her and coming on as
if the trumpeters were sounding the charge.

A great groan rose from the floor and the galleries; the band played on
wildly, losing its perfect tempo and each musician playing for himself,
but still playing as a band should play on in terrible crises. The
line of riders was sharply checked, the perfectly trained horses coming
to a dead stop within ten seconds. In the C. O.'s box the chaplain was
on his feet, his hands clasped in silent supplication; Mrs. Fortescue,
braver than a brave soldier, put her arm about her husband's neck, as
Colonel Fortescue swayed about in his seat like a drunken man. Amid
the blare of the band and the riders and chargers almost upon the
struggling horse and motionless girl, lying on the tanbark, Broussard,
coolly, as if he were on the parade ground, lifted Gamechick by the
bridle, gave him a touch of the spur, and the next moment cleared both
mare and girl, with twenty inches between Gamechick's iron-shod hind
hoofs and Anita's beautiful blonde head.

[Illustration: Broussard, lifted Gamechick by the bridle and the next
moment cleared both mare and girl.]

It had all passed in twenty seconds by the clock, but to those who
watched it seemed a long hour of agony. The moment the