marvel of strength and skill, his body
was wheeled round and his hoofs struck earth at safe distance from the
prostrate woman's head.

My lord sprang from his back and stood a moment soothing his trembling,
the animal snorting and panting, the foam flying from his nostrils in
his terror at a thing which his friend and master had never done to him
before. The two loved each other, and in Roxholm's heart there was a
sort of rage that he should have been forced to inflict upon him so
harsh a shock.

The woman dragged herself half up from the white dust on which she had
lain. She was shuddering convulsively, her long hair was hanging about
her, her eyes wild and anguished, and her lips shivering more than
trembling.

"Oh, God! Oh, God!" she wailed, and then let herself drop again and
writhed, clutching at the white dust with her hands.

"Are you mad?" said Roxholm, sternly, "or only in some hysteric fury?
Would you have your brains dashed out?"

She flung out her arms, tearing at the earth still and grinding her
teeth.

"Yes--dashed out!" she cried; "all likeness beaten from my face that
none might know it again. For that I threw myself before you."

The Marquess gave his horse to the servant, who had ridden to him, and
made a sign both to him and Mr. Fox that they ride a little forward.

He bent over the girl (for she was more girl than woman, being scarce
eighteen) and put his hand on her shoulder.

"Get up, Mistress," he said. "Rise and strive to calm yourself."

Suddenly his voice had taken a tone which had that in its depths no
creature in pain would not understand and answer to. His keen eye had
seen a thing which wrung his heart, it seeming to tell so plainly all
the cruel story.

"Come, poor creature," he said, "let me help you to your feet."

He put his strong arm about her body, and lifted her as if she had been
a child, and finding she was so trembling that she had not strength to
support herself, he even carried her to the grass and laid her down
upon it. She had a lovely gipsy face which should have been brilliant
with beauty, but was wild and wan and dragged with horrid woe. Her
great roe's eyes stared at him through big, welling tears of agony.

"_You_ look like some young lord!" she cried. "_You_ have a beautiful
face and a sweet voice. Any woman would believe you if you swore a
thing! What are women to do! Are you a villain, too--are you a villain,
too?"

"No," answered he, looking at her