The rider was, however, no longer on his back: she had been cast headlong from the saddle, and our hero saw, with terror, that her riding-gear was entangled on the saddle, and that she was being dragged along the ground by its side.
But few minutes of exposure to such a situation, and that sweet face had been spurned out of the form of humanity, and her delicate limbs broken, torn, and lacerated. But the youth (although he saw at once that it would be vain to attempt to arrest the powerful brute by seizing the bridle) in a moment resolved upon a bolder measure. As the horse neared him, he rushed from his concealment and (ere it could swerve from his reach), with the full swing of his heavy quarter-staff, struck the animal full upon its forehead, and with the iron at the extremity of his weapon, fractured its skull.
So truly and well was the blow delivered, that the steed fell as if struck by a butcher's pole-axe, and the next instant was a quivering carcase upon the grass.
In another moment the achiever of this deed had unsheathed the sharp dagger he wore at his waist-belt, cut away the entangled garment of the lady from the saddle, and was kneeling beside her insensible form. As he did so, he felt that he could have spent hours in gazing upon those lovely features.
Meanwhile, the cavalier who had followed (but who reined up his horse when he observed the steed of the lady dash down the slope, and then remained gazing on all that followed in a state of utter helplessness), as soon as he beheld the extraordinary manner in which she had been succoured, again set spurs to his horse.
Dashing recklessly across the Roman trench, he galloped to the spot, and throwing himself from the saddle, snatched the lady from the supporting arms of her rescuer.
There was a retiring diffidence, an innate modesty about the youth who had aided the lady, which kept him from intrusion. Nevertheless, he felt hurt at the manner in which the handsome cavalier had snatched her from his arms. His indomitable spirit prompted him almost to thrust back that officious friend, and like Valentine, exclaim—
"Thurio, give place, or else embrace thy death;
I dare thee but to look upon my love!"
The next moment, however, remembrance of his own condition, and the station in life of her he had saved, flashed across his brain. He drew a pace or two back, and recollected how far removed he was from her he had so promptly succoured. As for the attendant cavalier, he seemed to see nothing but the still insensible form he hung over. "Oh! thank heaven. Oh! thank heaven, she breathes," he said wildly, "she is not dead—speak to me, Charlotte—speak but one word to your poor cousin, if but to assure him of your safety."
"I think she is recovering, fair sir," said the youth, again approaching. "See, she opens her eyes."