Beauty was certainly in an ugly mood. He fretted at the touch of her hand on the bridle, he acted as if he would like to take the bit in his teeth, and bolt; and to three of the party, at least, the arrival at the quieter Park was vast relief. These three were the master, the sharpshooter, and Jessica Trent. To these three a fine horse meant something higher than a servant or a beast of burden; he was a creature of keen perceptions and strong emotions.
That morning, Beauty had been roughly groomed. This was unusual and painfully trying to his sensitive skin and temper. Then his saddle had been found defective in some slight way and another which did not fit had been substituted. Other stable happenings had been unfortunate, and Beauty took the road far from fit to be trusted with so valuable a burden as Helen Rhinelander.
However, for a time, after entering the Park, he seemed to forget his worries, as his young mistress presently forgot hers. To those who love it, there is nothing more exhilarating than a swift canter on a fresh spring morning, such as this; and the spirits of the whole party rose to the highest.
Suddenly from a side road, at a wild rate of speed, rushed a runaway automobile, tenantless, chauffeurless, tearing its own unguided way into the very midst of the horseback cavalcade.
“Ware! Ware!” warned the master, shrieked the grooms; while Ephraim would have planted himself directly in the path of the oncoming monster had not Jessica reached forward, seized his horse’s bridle and jerked him aside.
“Ephy! you can’t stop it! Look out, look out! O Helen!”
Beauty, like Ephraim, had planted himself in the way. For an instant he stood stock still, while the glaring red machine rushed toward his very front. The next he had reared and plunged and Helen was almost unseated.
What happened after that there were some who could not see, for they had closed their eyes against an inevitable tragedy.
But Jessica saw, comprehended, acted. With one toss of her own bridle into Ephraim’s outstretched hand she was on the ground, had caught that of the frenzied Beauty and swerved him out of the road, Helen still clinging frightened but unharmed to her saddle. The next instant the automobile had dashed onward out of sight, but a girl in a blue habit lay huddled on the ground, a torn and bruised object from which they turned away their eyes, not daring to look upon her fair, brave face—so ghastly white and quiet now.