Ronald drew near to Avery, while Jeanie slipped a nervous hand into hers. Julian, however, turned a defiant face. "It's all right. He can't get at us," he said audibly.
At which remark Gracie laughed a little hysterically, and Pat made a grimace.
Perhaps it was this last that chiefly infuriated the Squire, for he literally bellowed with rage, snatched his animal back with a merciless hand, and then with whip and spur set him full at the stream.
It was a dangerous leap, for the ground on both banks was yielding and slippery. Avery stood transfixed to watch the result.
The horse made a great effort to obey his master's behests. It almost seemed as if he were furious too, Avery thought, as he pounded forward to clear the obstacle. His leap was superb, clearing the stream by a good six feet, but as he landed among the primroses disaster overtook him. It must have been a rabbit-hole, Avery reflected later; for he blundered as he touched the ground, plunged forward, and fell headlong.
There followed a few moments of sickening confusion during which the horrified spectators had time to realize that Sir Beverley was pinned under the kicking animal; then with a savage effort the great brute rolled over and struggled to his feet.
With a promptitude that spoke well for his nerve, Julian sprang forward and caught the dangling bridle. The creature tried to jib back upon his prostrate master, but he dragged him forward and held him fast.
Old Sir Beverley lay prone on the ground, in an awful stillness, with his white face turned to the sky. His eyes were fast shut, his arms flung wide, one hand still grasping the whip which he had wielded so fiercely a few seconds before.
"Is he dead?" whispered Jeanie, clinging close to Avery.
Avery gently released herself and moved forward. "No, dear, no! He—he is only stunned."