an satisfied with
himself, and, as he walked along, he mowed down with his ash-plant
thistles and nettles in sheer joyfulness of heart. His long feud with
Bourne would come to a joyful end that night. Mivart's election was
certain, and Mivart's election would pay for all--for the loss of the
"footer" cap, and for that terrible half-hour after Bourne had knocked
him out, when he felt himself almost going mad from hatred, rage,
disgust, and defeat. He had engineered his schemes beautifully; his
revenge would be as perfect. The loss of the captaincy would be a
bitter, bitter pill for Bourne to swallow.

Whilst he strode on, engrossed with these pleasant thoughts, he fancied
he heard shouts and cries somewhere in the distance behind him. He
turned round, and down the long stretch of white road he saw a cloud of
dust rolling with terrific speed towards him. For one moment he wondered
whatever was the matter, but out of the dust he could see the flashing
of carriage-wheels, the glitter of harness, and the shining coats of a
couple of horses. The carriage came rocking towards him at a terrible
rate, sometimes the wheels on one side off the road altogether; the
horses had their heads up, and Acton could hear their terrified snorting
as they thundered towards him.

"A runaway!" said Acton, backing into the hedge. "They'll come a cropper
at the little bridge. What a smash there'll be!" As the runaway horses,
galloping like the furies, came nearer, Acton saw something which made
his blood run cold. "Jove!" he cried, darting out from the hedge,
"there's a lady in the carriage!" Acton was almost frozen with the
horror of the thing. "She'll be smashed to pieces at the bridge."

Acton glanced to the little bridge half a mile down the long white road,
where the road narrowed to meet the low stone walls, and he knew as well
as though he saw it that the carriage would catch the bridge and be
shivered to match-wood. The horses must be stopped before they reached
it, or the lady would be killed. Now Acton, with all his faults, was no
coward. Without thinking of the terrible risk he ran, he sprang out into
the middle of the road and waved his arms frantically at the horses
moving like a thunderbolt towards him. But they were too maddened with
terror to heed this waving apparition in their path, and Acton, in the
very nick of time, just jumped aside and avoided the carriage-pole,
pointed like a living lance at his breast.

[Illustration: