Faint at first, but growing momentarily louder, there came the clear trilling of a mysterious bell. It floated out from the dark by-ways whence they had themselves just emerged, and something eerie and uncanny in its clamor brought a thrill of terror to the young knight's nerves for the first time.
"Now, what in God's name—" he began.
But he broke off in horror, for there flashed past him, as silent as the wind and swifter, a dark, bent figure, with flying cloak, under which, as the moonlight struck him, there whirled a web of glittering tissue whereon he seemed to ride. That uncanny tinkling floated back from this strange vision, confirming to the ear what otherwise might have appeared a mere trick of the vision.
As for Sir Isaac and his band, the distant bell had early brought them to a wondering stand; and now, as this rushing phantom—trilling—trilling—trilling—swept down on a living moonbeam, with one accord they put spurs to their steeds, and with cries of horror fled in all directions.
"Forward!" cried Phœbe, exultantly. "Why, what now!" she exclaimed, as she saw her lover still sitting petrified with fear. "How now, my knight! Why sit you here amazed? Is not the way clear? Come—follow—follow!" and she started forward on a trot.
But her lover did not move, and she was obliged to turn back. Laying her hand on his arm:
"Why, what ails thee, dear heart?" she asked.
"The spectre—the ghostly steed!" he stammered.
"Oh—oh!" laughed Phœbe. "Why, this was but some venturous bicyclist on his wheel!"
"A bicyclist!" exclaimed Sir Guy. "Can you thus give a name to this black phantom, Mary?"