She sank upon a sofa and hid her face and lay motionless for an hour, Lady Denby standing near. Then suddenly Lady Eleanor started and raised her head.
"What was that?"
"I heard nothing," said Lady Denby.
"I heard a horse; some one has ridden out of the courtyard. It is Yorke. That is the last of him!"
It was Yorke. He had walked swiftly through the lane to White Place, and going straight to the stable had saddled his horse.
"It's a dark night, my lord," said the groom, who held the lantern, and he looked curiously and apprehensively at the stern face. "An' the ground's soft and slippery, my lord," he added.
Yorke did not, however, seem to hear him, but tossing him a sovereign leapt into the saddle and went out of the courtyard at a canter. The horse was fresh and somewhat startled at being taken out so late and into the darkness, and under ordinary circumstances Yorke would have let him go easy until he quieted down, but to-night he had no thought for the horse or himself, or anything else; and when they had got outside the park and on the London road he let the animal have its head, and even touched it with his heel. This was quite enough, and they went spinning along the slippery road at a breakneck pace. It was very dark, the rain was still coming down in good old English fashion, and the horse was getting more and more nervous as he felt, by some instinct, that his master was riding carelessly and recklessly. Yorke scarcely knew whether he was riding or walking until suddenly he saw something white flash along the ground in front. It was only a white cat, but if it had been a ghost the horse could not have been more frightened. He stopped almost instantly and shied, and, on Yorke's striking him, reared. Yorke was a good rider and kept his seat, but when he struck the horse again and tried to force him over, the animal, half mad with fright, reared still higher, until he stood as upright as a circus horse; then, losing his balance, slipped on the greasy road and came down backward on the top of Yorke.
It was done in a moment, with scarcely any sound save the clatter and splash of the horse's hoofs as he rose and shook himself, trembling and panting, and in the silence of the night Yorke lay motionless, his whole length stretched out upon the ground, the rain beating down upon his upturned face.
Ralph Duncombe had gone to the inn and the two girls, left alone, were still in the parlor. Leslie had scarcely changed her attitude, and seemed sunk in lethargic indifference, which was really the result of exhaustion, and though she listened to Lucy's arguments and prayers, made no response to them.