“Lay her so that the shell may burst over the great charcoal-heap by the corner of the wood,” said the founder; and, after exercising a great deal of care, Gil laid the piece quite to his satisfaction.
“Now try,” he said. “Ready!”
“Ready,” cried the founder.
“Fire.”
The linstock was again applied; there was the same tremendous roar; the great piece leaped back several feet, and a few seconds later, crash! came the bursting of the shell once more, so near to the charcoal hill that the air was filled with the fragments that were scattered far.
“A great success, Gil; you have won a prize,” cried the founder, “one of those that the world will talk of a century hence; but hey-day! what’s this?”
There was the quick trampling of horses’ feet, and at the end of a few seconds two horsemen came tearing along the track at full speed, their riders having apparently lost all control over their steeds. The first kept his seat, and tugged hard at the bridle; but the second was well on his horse’s neck, to which he clung with all his might, his red face and his thickly-padded feather breeches showing that it was Sir Thomas Beckley, whose appearance was greeted by the founder with a roar of laughter.
Gil hardly glanced at him, for the happy sunshine of the past hours seemed to have been clouded, as the frightened horses stopped of their own accord, and he saw that the first arrival was Sir Mark, whose horse, like that of the baronet, had been startled by the bursting shell.