"Verdict—accidental death!" he muttered, with a fierce laugh—"No doubt it will be thought singular that the daughter should have met the same end as her father! And nothing more will be said. But suppose she is not killed, since every cat has nine lives? No matter, she will be disfigured for life! That will suit me just as well!"
He laughed again, and passed on in the wake of the hunt which had now swept far ahead round the bend of the hill.
Meanwhile, 'Cleopatra, Queen of Egypt,' rendered stunned and dizzy by her fall, began to recover her equine senses. Sniffing the air and opening her wild bright eyes, she soon perceived her loved mistress lying flung about three yards distant from where she herself had rolled over and over on the thick wet clod of the field. With a supreme effort the gallant beast attempted to rise,—and presently, with much plunging and kicking, in which struggles however, she with an almost human intelligence pushed herself farther away from that prone figure on the ground, so that she might not injure it, she managed to stand upright, quivering in every strained, sore limb. Lifting her head, she whinnied with a melancholy long-drawn plaintiveness, and then with a slow, stiff hobble, moved cautiously closer to Maryllia's fallen body. There she paused and whinnied again, while the grey skies lowered and rain began to ooze from the spreading leaden weight of cloud.
And now assistance seemed near, for the Reverend Putwood Leveson, having had to lead his bicycle up a hill, and being overcome with a melting tallow of perspiration in the effort, hove in sight like an unwieldy porpoise bobbing up on dry land. Approaching the broken gap in the hedge, he quickly spied the mare, and realised the whole situation. Now was the chance for a minister of Christ to show his brave and gentle ministry! He had a flask of brandy in his pocket,— he never went anywhere without it. He felt it, where it was concealed, comfortably pressed against his heart,—then he peered blandly over the hedge at the helpless human creature lying there unconscious. He knew who it was,—who it must be,—for, as he had cycled through the village after the hunt had started, he had heard everyone talking of Miss Vancourt's unexpected return, and how she had been the 'queen' of the meet that morning. Besides, she had passed him on the road, riding at full gallop. He wiped his forehead now and smiled pleasantly.
"Queens are very soon discrowned!"—he said to himself—"And, fortunately, vacant thrones are soon filled! Now if that sneak Walden were here—-"
He paused considering. The remembrance of the indignity he had suffered at the hands of Julian Adderley was ever fresh with him,— an indignity brought about all through the very woman who was now perhaps dying before his eyes, if she was not already dead. Suddenly, pushing his way through the broken hedge, he approached 'Cleopatra' cautiously. The malignant idea entered his brain that if he could make the animal start and plunge, her hoofs would crush the body of her mistress more surely and completely. Detestable as the impulse was, it came quite naturally to him. He had helped to kill butterflies often—why not a woman? The murderous instinct was the same in both cases. He tried to snatch the mare's bridle-rein, but she jerked her head away from him, and stood like a rock. He could not move her an inch. Only her great soft eyes kindled with a warning fire as he hovered about her,—and a decided movement of one of her hind hoofs suggested that possibly he might have the worst of any attempt to play pranks with her. He paused a moment, considering.
"Oliver Leach came this way,"—he mused—"He passed me almost immediately after she did. Is this his work, I wonder?" Here he drew out his always greasy pocket-handkerchief and wiped his face with as much tender care as though it were a handsome one—"I shouldn't be surprised,"—he continued, in a mild sotto-voce—"I shouldn't be at all surprised if he had arranged this little business! Clever—very! Fatal accidents in the hunting-field are quite common. He knows that. So do I. But I shall find out,—yes!—I shall find out—-"
Here he almost jumped with an access of 'nerves'—for 'Cleopatra, Queen of Egypt' suddenly stretched out her long arched neck and whinnied with piteous, beseeching loudness. A pause of intense stillness followed the mare's weird cry,—a stillness broken only by the slow pattering of rain. Then from the near distance came the baying of hounds and a far echo of the hunting horn.
Seized by panic, the Reverend 'Putty' scrambled quickly out of the ploughed field, through the broken hedge and on to the high-road again, where taking himself to his bicycle again, he scurried away like a rat from falling timber. He had been on his way to Riversford when he had stopped to look at the little fallen heap of violet and gold,—guarded so faithfully by a four-footed beast twenty times more 'Christian' in natural feeling than his 'ordained' clerical self,—and he now resumed that journey. And though, as he neared the town, he met many persons of the neighbourhood on foot, in carts, and light-wheeled traps, he never once paused to give news of the accident, or so much as thought of sending means of assistance.
"I am not supposed to have seen anything,"—he said, with a fat smile—"and I am not supposed to know! I shall certainly not be asked to assist at the funeral service. Walden will attend to that!"