"Then save Mademoiselle Véret. I'll take my chance."
This blunt speech moved me, the more especially as the man was French. I could not allow him to point the way of duty to me—an Englishman.
"Assist her up, then. Now, Mademoiselle, put your arms round me and hold hard for your life. Lureau, you may hold my stirrup if you agree to loose it when you tire."
"I will do so," he promised.
Hampered thus, I but slowly gained on Natalie and Edith, whose ponies had galloped a mile before they could be stopped.
"Forward, forward!" I shouted when within hail. "Don't wait for me. Ride on at top speed. Lash your ponies with the bridle-reins."
We were all moving on now at an easy canter, for I could not go fast so long as Lureau held my stirrup, and the girls in front did not seem anxious to leave me far behind. Besides, the tangled underwood and overhanging creepers rendered hard riding both difficult and dangerous. The ponies were hard held, but notwithstanding this my horse fell back gradually in the race, and the hammering of the hoofs in front grew fainter. The breath of the runner at my stirrup came in great sobs. He was suffocating, but he struggled on a little longer. Then he threw up his hand and gasped:
"I am done. Go on, Marcel. You deserve to escape. Don't desert the girl."
"May God desert me if I do," I answered. "And do you keep on as long as you can. You may reach the shore after all."
"Go on—save her!" he gasped, and then from sheer exhaustion fell forward on his face.