though about to charge. He roared, a roar that seemed to shake the
ground. As he came on she flung the offending garment on to his horns
and stepped to one side.

She did not wait to see the result. She could run like Atalanta. It
was a pretty good sprint to the gate, which closed and opened by an
iron switch. As she ran, the roars of the bull followed her. He was
rending Lady O'Gara's Connemara cloak. Presently he would discover
that the perpetrator of this outrage upon his dignity was yet in sight.

She was some distance from the gate when she heard the thudding of the
bull behind her. For a second or two she did not discover that Eileen
was not holding the gate open for her. It was apparently shut to.
Would she have time to open it before the bull came up! The switch,
which was new, took some pressure to move. Would she have time?

She had just a wild hope that Eileen might have left the gate
unfastened. She flung herself against it. No, the switch had fallen
into its place: there was no time, no time even to climb the gate. The
bull was upon her with a rush. She felt the wind of his approach. She
closed her eyes and clung to the gate. Her mind was never clearer.
She saw herself trampled and gored, flung in the air and to earth again
a helpless thing for the bull to wreak his wrath upon.

Suddenly there was a shout, close at hand, almost at her ear.
Something hurtled through the air, a stone flung with an unerring aim
which struck the bull in the forehead. The gate opened with her and
she felt herself drawn through the opening while the switch fell with a
sharp click.

"I say, that was a near thing!" said Terry O'Gara. "You're not going
to faint, are you? Just look at that chap tearing up my old football
blazer. Thank God, it isn't you."

"Where is Eileen?" she asked. "She was terribly frightened."

"I know," he answered, somewhat grimly. "I dare say she has done a
faint. I left her over there by the stile. She was sitting down,
recovering herself. Lucky I heard the roars of the bull and was so
close at hand. I suppose it was Eileen who shut the gate. She made
some sort of explanation, but there was no time to listen. What a
fright you've had, you poor child!"

The bull, having reduced the blazer to rags like the Connemara cloak,
had trotted away and was grazing quietly, some of the tattered pieces
still hanging to his horns, with an odd effect of absurdity.

"I never thought a