trembling, and dripping, on the narrow
road. She led him on for a few steps; he went sound, and for one
delusive instant she thought he had escaped damage; then, through the
black slime on one of his hind legs the red blood began to flow. It came
from high up inside the off hind leg, above the hock, and it welled ever
faster and faster, a plaited crimson stream that made his owner's heart
sink. She dipped her handkerchief in the ditch and cleaned the cut. It
was deep in the fleshy part of the leg, a gaping wound, inflicted by one
of those razor slates that hide like sentient enemies in such boggy
places. It was large enough for her to put her hand in; she held the
edges together, and the bleeding ceased for an instant; then, as she
released them, it began again worse than ever. Her handkerchief was as
inadequate for any practical purpose as ladies' handkerchiefs generally
are, but an inspiration came to her. She tore off her gloves, and in a
few seconds the long linen hunting-scarf that had been pinned and tied
with such skilled labour in the morning was being used as a bandage for
the wound. But though Mrs. Pat could tie a tie with any man in the
regiment, she failed badly as a bandager of a less ornamental character.
The hateful stream continued to pump forth from the cut, incarnadining
the muddy road, and in despair she took Pilot by the head and began to
lead him down the hill towards the valley.

Another gusty shower flung itself at her. It struck her bare white neck
with whips of ice, and though she turned up the collar of her coat, the
rain ran down under the neckband of her shirt and chilled her through
and through. It was evident that an artery had been cut in Pilot's leg;
the flow, from the wound never ceased; the hunting-scarf drenched with
blood, had slipped down to the hock. It seemed to Mrs. Pat that her
horse must bleed to death, and, tough and unemotional though she was,
Pilot was very near her heart; tears gathered in her eyes as she led him
slowly on through the rain and the loneliness, in the forlorn hope of
finding help. She progressed in this lamentable manner for perhaps half
a mile; the rain ceased, and she stopped to try once more to readjust
the scarf, when, in the stillness that had followed the cessation of the
rain, she heard a faint and distant sound of music. It drew nearer, a
thin, shrill twittering, and as Mrs. Pat turned quickly from her task to
see what this could portend, she heard a wo