oached it and had almost entered, suddenly something shot
towards him in the air; a flash, as it were, as if some object had
crossed the streak, and was rendered visible for the tenth of a second,
like a mote in the sunbeams. At the same instant of time, the horse,
which he had pressed to go faster, put his foot into a rut or hole, and
stumbled, and Felix was flung so far forward that he only saved himself
from being thrown by clinging to his neck. A slight whizzing sound
passed over his head, followed immediately by a sharp tap against a tree
in his rear.

The thing happened in the twinkling of an eye, but he recognised the
sound; it was the whiz of a crossbow bolt, which had missed his head,
and buried its point in a fir. The stumble saved him; the bolt would
have struck his head or chest had not the horse gone nearly on his knee.
The robber had so planned his ambush that his prey should be well seen,
distinct in the moonlight, so that his aim might be sure. Recovering
himself, the horse, without needing the spur, as if he recognised the
danger to his rider, started forward at full speed, and raced,
regardless of ruts, along the track. Felix, who had hardly got into his
seat again, could for awhile but barely restrain it, so wildly he fled.
He must have been carried within a few yards of the bandit, but saw
nothing, neither did a second bolt follow him; the crossbow takes time
to bend, and if the robber had companions they were differently armed.

He was a furlong or more from the spot before he quite realized the
danger he had escaped. His bow was unstrung in his hand, his arrows were
all in the quiver; thus, had the bolt struck him, even if the wound had
not been mortal (as it most likely would have been) he could have made
no resistance. How foolish to disregard the warnings of the grooms at
the castle! It was now too late; all he could do was to ride. Dreading
every moment to be thrown, he pushed on as fast as the horse would go.
There was no pursuit, and after a mile or so, as he left the firs and
entered the ash woods, he slackened somewhat. It was, indeed, necessary,
for here the hoofs of preceding horsemen had poached the turf (always
damp under ash) into mud. It was less dark, for the boughs of the ashes
did not meet above.

As he passed, wood-pigeons rose with loud clatterings from their
roosting-places, and once or twice he saw in the gloom the fiery
phosphoric eye-balls of the grey wood-cats. How gladly