I saw the huntsman leap from his horse and plunge among the dogs.
“Move—come away, the hounds will tear you to pieces,” he shouted, beating fiercely about with his whip.
“They shall not kill him; call them off, I say, these beasts shall not kill him,” I shrieked, in reply.
“That moment a hound sprang upon me, tearing my riding-skirt, and almost bringing me to the earth.”
I cried aloud, but not with fear. The excitement was terrible, but there was no cowardice in it.
“Great heavens! she will be devoured,” I heard him say; then he leaped like a flame upon the dog, and grappling him by the throat, bore him backward to the earth.
“Now run, run!” he cried, panting with the hound in his power.
“No!” I answered stoutly, “they will tear him to pieces if I do. Keep them off—keep them off.”
He made no answer, but wrestled more fiercely with the hound.
That moment the whole hunt came up, men, keepers, and women surrounding us in their gorgeous dresses like a battalion of cavalry.