“Good boy!” whispered Betty. “Do not let him take you—do not!”
If he remained where he was he would attract attention if anyone passed by. “Fight, Childe Harold, be as vicious as you choose—do not allow yourself to be dragged back.”
And fight he did, with an ugliness of temper he had never shown before—with snortings and tossed head and lashed-out heels, as if he knew he was fighting to gain time and with a purpose.
But in the midst of the struggle Nigel Anstruthers stopped suddenly. He had stumbled again, and risen raging and stained with damp earth. Now he stood still, panting for breath—as still as he had stood after the click of the gate. Was he—listening? What was he listening to? Had she moved in her excitement, and was it possible he had caught the sound? No, he was listening to something else. Far up the road it echoed, but coming nearer every moment, and very fast. Another horse—a big one—galloping hard. Whosoever it was would pass this place; it could only be a man—God grant that he would not go by so quickly that his attention would not be arrested by a shriek! Cry out she must—and if he did not hear and went galloping on his way she would have betrayed herself and be lost.
She bit off a groan by biting her lip.
“You who died to-day—now—now!”
Nearer and nearer. No human creature could pass by a thing like this—it would not be possible. And Childe Harold, backing and fighting, scented the other horse and neighed fiercely and high. The rider was slackening his pace; he was near the lane. He had turned into it and stopped. Now for her one frantic cry—but before she could gather power to give it forth, the man who had stopped had flung himself from his saddle and was inside the garden speaking. A big voice and a clear one, with a ringing tone of authority.
“What are you doing here? And what is the matter with Miss Vanderpoel's horse?” it called out.
Now there was danger of the swoop into the darkness—great danger—though she clutched at the hedge that she might feel its thorns and hold herself to the earth.
“YOU!” Nigel Anstruthers cried out. “You!” and flung forth a shout of laughter.