“Do you see the gentleman on the bright bay, Miss Fairlegh?” exclaimed Lawless; “there, he's speaking to Tom Field, the huntsman, now; he has got his watch in his hand; that's Mr. Rand, the master of the hounds; you'll see some fun directly. Ah! I thought so.”
As he spoke, at a signal from the huntsman, the hounds dashed into cover, and were instantly lost to sight in a waving sea of gorse, save when a head or neck became visible for a moment, as some dog more eager than the rest sprang over a tangled brake, through which he was unable to force his way.
“Oh, you beauties!” resumed Lawless enthusiastically, “only watch them; they're drawing it in first-rato style, and there's rare lying in that cover. Now see how the furze shakes—look at their sterns nourishing; have at him there—have at him; that's right, Tom—cheer 'em on, boy—good huntsman is Tom Field—there again!—a fox, I'll bet five hundred pounds to a pony—hark!—a whimper—now wait—a challenge! another and another—listen to them—there's music—watch the right-hand corner—that's where he'll break cover for a thousand, and if he does, what a run we shall have! Look at those fools,” he added, pointing to a couple of cockney-looking fellows who were cantering towards the very place he had pointed to, “they'll head him back as sure as fate; hold hard there—why does not somebody stop them? By Jove, I'll give them a taste of the double thong when I get up with them, even if it's the Lord Mayor of London and his brother. Look to your sister, Frank, I'll be back directly.”
“Wait one minute,” shouted I, but in vain; for before the words were well out of my mouth, he had driven the spurs into his eager horse, and was galloping furiously in the direction of the unhappy delinquents who had excited his indignation. My reason for asking him to wait a minute was, that just as the hounds began drawing the cover, I had made the agreeable discovery that the strap to which one of my saddle-girths was buckled had given way, and that there was nothing for it but to dismount and repair the evil; and I had scarcely concluded the best temporary arrangement I was able to effect, when Lawless started in pursuit of the cockneys. Almost at the same moment a countryman, stationed at the outside of the gorse, shouted “Tally-ho!” and the fox broke cover in gallant style, going away at a rattling pace, with four or five couple of hounds on his traces. In an instant all was confusion, cigars were thrown away, hats pressed firmly down upon the brow, and, with a rush like the outburst of some mighty torrent, the whole field to a man swept rapidly onward.
In the meanwhile Fanny's mare, which had for some minutes shown symptoms of excitement, pawing the ground with her fore-foot, pricking up her ears, and tossing her head impatiently, began, as Lawless rode off, to plunge in a manner which threatened at every moment to unseat her rider, and as several horsemen dashed by her, becoming utterly unmanageable, she set off at a wild gallop, drowning in the clatter of her hoofs Fanny's agonised cry for help. Driven nearly frantic by the peril in which my sister was placed, I was even yet prevented for a minute or more from hastening to her assistance, as my own horse, frightened by the occurrences I have described, struggled so violently to follow his companions as to render it very difficult for me to hold, and quite impossible to remount, him, so that when at length I succeeded in springing on his back, the hounds were already out of sight, and Fanny and her runaway steed so far ahead of me, that it seemed inevitable some accident must occur before I could overtake them, and it was with a sinking heart that I gave my horse the rein, and dashed forward in pursuit.
The course which Lawless had taken when he started on his wildgoose chase was down a ride cut through the furze, and it was along this turfy track that Rose Alba was now hurrying in her wild career. The horse on which I was mounted was a young thorough-bred, standing nearly sixteen hands high, and I felt certain that in the pursuit in which I was engaged, the length of his stride would tell, and that eventually we must come up with the fugitives; but so fleet was the little Arab, and so light the weight she had to carry, that I was sorry to perceive I gained upon them but slowly. It was clear that I should not overtake them before they reached the outskirts of the common, and then who could say what course the mare might take—what obstacles might not be in her way!
On—on we go in our headlong course, the turf reechoing to the muffled strokes of the horses' feet, while the furze, waving in the wind, seemed to glide by us in a rapid stream. Onward—still onward; the edge of the gorse appears a dark line in the distance—it is passed; we are crossing the belt of turf that surrounds it—and now, in what direction will the mare proceed? Will she take the broad road to the left, which leads again to the open country by a gentle ascent, where she can be easily overtaken and stopped; or will she turn to the right, and follow the lane, which leads across the terrace-field to the brook, swollen by the late rains into a river? See! she slackens her pace—she wavers, she doubts—she will choose the road! No; by Heaven! she turns to the right, and dashing down the lane like a flash of lightning, is for a moment hidden from view. But the space of time, short as it was, when her speed slackened, has enabled me to gain upon her considerably; and when I again catch sight of her she is not more than fifty yards ahead. Forward! good horse—forward! Life or death hangs upon thy fleetness. Vain hope! another turn brings us in sight of the brook, swollen by the breaking up of the frost into a dark, turbulent stream. Fanny perceives it too, and utters a cry of terror, which rings like a death-knell on my ear. There seems no possibility of escape for her; on the left hand an impenetrable hedge; on the right a steep bank, rising almost perpendicularly to the height of a man's head; in front the rushing water; while the mare, apparently irritated to frenzy by my pursuit, gallops wildly forward. Ha! what is that? a shout! and the figure of a man on horseback appears on the high ground to the right, between Fanny and the stream. He perceives the danger, and if he dare attempt the leap from the bank, may yet save her. Oh! that I were in his place. Hark! he shouts again to warn us of his intention, and putting spurs to his horse, faces him boldly at it. The horse perceives the danger, and will refuse the leap. No! urged by his rider, he will take it yet—now he springs—it is certain destruction. A crash! a fall! they are down! No; he has lifted his horse with the rein—they are apparently uninjured. Rose Alba, startled by the sudden apparition, slackens her pace—the stranger, taking advantage of the delay, dashes forward, seizes the rein, and succeeds in stopping her; as he does so, I approached near enough to recognise his features—
Unlooked for happiness! Fanny is saved, and Harry Oaklands is her preserver!