One, however, their leader, was differently occupied. "Li rois, ki mult fu travaille La nuit se est reposé; Par matin se est levé, Sa messe oïr est alé, Assez près à un mostere While thus piously engaged, the cry came- Without an instant's delay, Harold armed himself, and whilst engaged in this occupation, his mother Githa came to him with the unaccustomed request, that he would not adventure his person in the battle. Much surprised, -for never before had his mother's fears stood in the way of his military arrangements, he looked for some explanation of her motives, but heard only an earnest renewal of the request. She pressed him most vehemently, but in vain; she besought him with a passion of tears to accord her boon: disturbed, but no way shaken, he turned away. 66 'Nay, my son," said the abbot, "this must hot be; for what saith holy writ? Despise not the tears of thy mother.'" "Far be it from me, reverend father," returned Harold, "to do aught unbecoming to me as a knight and a Christian man; but in this I may not choose but lead to the battle." "Oh! go not, my son," interrupted his mother; "go not, I beseech thee. Full well do I know that it will be a disastrous day for thee, if thou leadest to the combat. Let thy brothers,-let the strong-armed Garth, the faithful Leowine, lead the force, and so shall success attend our prayers, and the haughty Norman be quelled." "Madam,-our mother, fain would we pleasure you in this matter, but it may not be. What!" exclaimed he, vehemently, "shall it be said that HAROLD shrank from the encounter like a base-born churl?" "From no encounter where thy honour calls thee would thy mother's voice dissuade thee; but this-" "And this?" "THY OATH!"1 In a moment the colour and excitement which had hitherto lighted up the countenance of Harold forsook it his lips became ashy white, and a tremor shook his frame. He quickly subdued it, however. My mother, that oath was obtained by fraud, my heart not consenting the while; such a vow bindeth not the conscience." His mother mournfully shook her head. "Nay, holy father, I appeal to you whether I am not free in this matter?" The abbot preserved an ominous silence, and Harold was evidently disconcerted. At this moment, however, an exciting sound pierced the walls of the chapel,the arrival, as it might be, of tidings of import, and the clamour of eager voices. In an instant the king forgot his mother's tears, the abbot's warning, his own misgivings. His eye flashed as he suspended round his neck his huge two-handed sword. "The people have risen around me on every side: they have followed me from York; the Londoners uphold my standard, and the men of Kent crowd to the van-never shall it be said that their leader quailed in the hour of danger. Foremost shall my sword flash in the fight. So help me God and the holy saints!" Borne away by the king's enthusiasm, his friends no longer sought to thwart his determination; and, despite her tears and forebodings, the Lady Githa's eye kindled with admiration as she looked on the magnificent bearing of her son. But ere long her maternal fears re (1) The tearful dissuasives of Harold's mother are named in some old book, and Master Wace, in the Roman de Rou, makes Garth earnestly dissuade his brother, the king, from personal combat, because of his previous oath to William. On this oath, with others, see Sharpe's Lond. Mag. vol. iii. p. 45-" Some Ancient Customs of England." sumed their ascendancy, and amid fast-falling tears she whispered some words to the abbot. "My son," said he, "if the prayers and intercessions of those who owe their worldly well-being to thy bounty may avail thee, rest assured that the voice of supplication will not be silent here whilst thou art engaged in thy perilous strife. But the issue rests not with us. Suffer then, my son, two brothers of our house to follow thee to the field: it may be that their ministry may be blessed to some good end." "As you please, reverend father; but I pray you, delay me not." So, accompanied by the two monks, Osegood Cnoppe and Ailric de Childemaister, Harold eagerly hied him to the fight. In the immediate preparation for the battle, William's presence of mind averted an omen which might have had a paralyzing effect on the exertions of his superstitious followers. In putting his hauberk over his head, he inadvertently turned the wrong part to the front, but quickly altered it; not, however, till he had seen the countenances of those around him overcast. "I commend myself,' said he, to our Lady. Let not this mischance trouble you. The hauberk which was turned wrong, and then set right by me, signifies that a change will arise out of the matter we are now moving. You shall see the name of Duke changed into King. Yea, a King shall I be, who hitherto have been but Duke.' "Then he crossed himself, and straightway took his hauberk, stooped his head, and put it on aright; and laced his helmet and girt his sword, which a varlet brought him." And it is said that he hung beneath his armour certain of the relics on which Harold had sworn allegiance to him. The Normans had fine cavalry, of which the English were destitute: their archers also did much execution. The duke drew up his army in three lines in the first were the light-armed foot, the archers, and slingers, clad in short coats; in the second, the heavier foot, who were defended by coats of mail; and in the third, the cavalry. Here rode he himself on a magnificent white charger, with a baton in his hand; and here was unfurled the sacred banner which had been blessed by the pope, and was sent to William as a gift from his holiness. was of scarlet silk, and bore a cross embroidered in silver. It The English were drawn up in one impenetrable wedge. They carried axes, spears, bills, clubs, swords, and triangular shields. They wore close, short hauberks, and rude helmets, which defended the neck, hanging over their garments. The men of Kent were placed in the front, their "privilege" to this honour being fully understood and allowed. The Londoners were placed next in the roll of dignity, their right being to guard the king's person and defend his standard. On a gently rising ground stood Harold on foot with his two brothers, and close to his standard, which represented an armed man, and was wrought in gold and jewels so magnificently that William thought it worthy to be an offering to the pope, to whom, after his conquest, he forwarded it. The signal for the onset was given, and the Normans rushed forward to the charge, their minstrels chanting and the host joining in the burden of their inspiring war-song-the "Song of Roland." Not the strains of the Marseillaise Hymn to the misguided French revolutionists,-not the spirit-stirring tones of See the conquering Hero comes, during the first enthusiastic ovations to Him of Waterloo,-not the majestic sounds of God save the King to the "Church and King" Pittite of good King George III.'s days,nay, nor even the soul-exciting strain of Over the water to the enthusiastic Jacobite of the last century-could excite anything like the intensity of enthusiasm which is ascribed to the influence of the "Song of Roland" over the Norman and French hosts for many centuries succeeding the death of this redoubtable Paladin. Nay, even to this day tradition lingers round the spot where he fell: a flower of the district is called the Casque de Roland;" the stroke of his sword is still exhibited upon the mountains; and the memory of the hero is still embalmed in a thousand shapes. In valour, in wisdom, in prudence, in earnest religious zeal, in capacious intellect (far before his age), in beneficence, and in good government, perhaps Charles the Great comes only second, if second, to our own revered Alfred. But while the English monarch's actions are recorded only by the matter-of-fact historian, or, perhaps, to speak more accurately, by the historian who meant to be matter-of-fact, Charlemagne's are enveloped in a maze of wonderment by the thousand fabulists who have clothed his deeds in all the deceitful hues of romance. And it is well to be supposed that they have rather disfigured than adorned the noble character which needed not "the meretricious aid of ornament." However, he and his Paladins have formed the theme for a cycle of romances hardly less extensive than those which immortalize the prowess of our British King Arthur and the Knights of his "table ronde." One of the most distinguished of these Paladins was Roland, the nephew of Charlemagne, and the hero of Ariosto's celebrated romance; and the sad and premature death of this brave knight by the blackest treachery at Roncesvalles wove a halo of interest around him, which his own virtues and valour, distinguished as they were, would hardly have obtained. His name and memory were embalmed in strains which formed the war-cry of his countrymen for ages after his dust was mingled with that of his native earth. "And thus of Roland's deeds they sung, when William the Bastard hearkened on his followers to slaughter and to victory on the bloody field of Hastings. From nine in the morning until sunset did the battle continue with unabated vigour, and then William had gained no advantage. Harold stood with his mighty phalanx, firm as a rock, and as impenetrable. "William was in fact beaten." But stratagem achieved what valour could not effect. The Normans gave way; the English were deceived by the ruse; they eagerly and rashly pursued, and the invincible line was broken. The error was perceived not till it was too late to retrieve it. A chance arrow, shot upwards, struck Harold above his right eye, and put it out. He drew out the arrow, and threw it away, and in his agony he stooped and leaned upon his shield. Great was the dismay of the English when the tall form of their heroic leader was seen to bend. "Loud was now the clamour, and great the slaughter; many a soul then quitted the body it inhabited. The living marched over the heaps of dead, and each side was weary of striking. He charged on who could, and he who could no longer strike still pushed forward. The strong struggled with the strong; some failed, others triumphed; the cowards fell back, the brave pressed on; and sad was his fate who fell in the midst, for he had little chance of rising again; and many in truth fell who never rose at all, being crushed under the throng." At length the Normans reached the standard where Harold, though still in agony, had resumed his erect bearing and was fighting desperately. His brothers had both fallen, he himself was bleeding profusely from various wounds, when lo! a momentary and last gleam of light flashes on an uplifted Norman sword, but dies away even before the sudden stroke has borne down beneath it the noble and ill-fated Saxon king. Thus, at the eleventh hour, was the victory won. Then William ordered his standard to be erected, and there, in the midst of the dead, he had his tent raised and his supper prepared. "And he ate and drank amongst the dead, and made his bed that night upon the field." Sad was the scene that Sabbath morning when the noblest matrons and fairest maidens of the land-when widowed mothers and bereaved children crowded the gory heath, seeking, amid heaps of the wounded, the dying, and the dead, for the disfigured corpse of a loved and lost one, to be borne away for Christian sepulture-the last holy tribute of surviving affection! Truly, then, was the beauty of the Lord's Day disfigured by a ghastly scene of strife and carnage,-of ruthless cruelty and murder; sadly was its holiness interrupted by a mingled cry-not of humility and thanksgiving, of humble hope and penitential prayer, but of a loud and discordant sacrifice, piercing to the very arch of heaven, wherein were distinguished no sounds but those of lamentation, and mourning, and woe. As William was engaged in his tent, dispensing commands and instructions to his followers, he was told that two monks of the Abbey of Waltham craved an audience; he ordered them to be admitted, and Osegood Cnoppe and Ailric de Childemaister were brought before him. "Now, sirs," said William sternly, for he never loved an English ecclesiastic, “what would you?” "Permission to search for and bear away the corpse of our king." "Your king! By the splendour of heaven, but ye are bold men to name your forsworn usurper to me, his liege lord! Begone!" With gushing tears and dejected mien one of the monks was turning away in obedience to the mandate, but the other seemed to gain energy even from the uncourteous treatment he received. "Lord of Normandy," said Ailric, "Heaven hath given thee the victory, but beware that ye abuse not its bounties. Such hap may not always be thine; be thou therefore merciful, even as thou hopest for mercy in thine own hour of peril. Insult not a fallen foc." "By the mass, monk, but thou speakest boldly! What wouldst thou?" "Justice-nought do we seek at thy hands but justice. According to the laws of warfare the body of the Lord Harold is thine; we come to ransom it." "Ha!" exclaimed the king, who was avaricious in the extreme, "what offer ye?" "The weight of the body in virgin gold." "By all the saints! but that is more than a king's ransom; the Aves and Paternosters of thy abbey must be rated highly, monk, since they yield such golden profits." "Insult not Holy Church through us, even though we be the meanest of her ministers," said Ailric sternly; "nevertheless, though we might well lay down all the little wealth of our abbey for him to whose piety we owe its existence, still know that not one cross of this ransom is offered by us." "By whom, then?" 66 By the broken-hearted mother whom thy ambition has rendered childless ;-by the noble Lady Githa!" There was a sudden pause: the countenances of those around had, from the first, evinced regret and disappro bation of the duke's harshness; but now he was himself struck. His voice was still harsh, but oh! how different in its tones. "Go! get ye gone: do what ye list." "And the ransom, Seigneur?" "Speak not of it," said he, turning hastily away: "get ye gone!" Thus authorized, the monks procceded to their melancholy search, but it was in vain. For long and weary hours did they pace the scene of the recent carnage, peering anxiously amid the heaps of slain for some token of him they sought. Often did their very souls | from reverential regard, though without any definite sicken within them as they shudderingly turned over purpose, he had borne away the body from the undisdisfigured corpses, which even already gave loathsome tinguished throng. After Edith had thrown herself on symptoms of corruption, or more horrible tokens that the ground, she gasped two or three times convulsively, the ghoule of the animal creation had already scented but now lay motionless, as the monks supposed, in a its prey. But worse,-far worse than all this, was it to swoon. They raised her gently, but her heart was meet with some wretched sufferer who still breathed, or broken. Edith of the Swan's neck was dead! some who had even power to murmur his misery, and yet be compelled to refuse him aid, lest in that precious moment some unauthorized hand should bear away their king. How often in this weary quest did the good men dash the blinding tears from their eyes, and groan as if their very hearts were rent with the sight and sound of the misery around them. But it was in vain,—all in vain ; and almost in despair the monks beheld the sun already past the meridian, and yet they had been unable to recognise the object of their search. "It is hopeless, brother, it is hopeless; and yet to relinquish our mission "Must not be thought of," interrupted Ailric; "but I have bethought me of a plan,-what if we were to bring hither the Lady Editha?" Impossible," said Osegood. "It is no scene for a gentle heart." "And think you,” rejoined Ailric, "that the mourners who have been hovering around us all day in quest of slaughtered relatives have not hearts as kind and feelings as tender as her of the Swan's Neck, though they be not robed in silk and minever! Affection is of no rank, brother, nor does firmness of mind inhabit only the rudely built frame; and if I read the Lady Editha's character aright, she would dare even this fearful scene rather than her loved lord and husband should lack a holy grave. Shall we to her?" "Yes you are in the right, I doubt not." : The beautiful Lady Eddeva, or Editha, called, from her fairness and surpassing dignity, Swanescombe, or Swan-necked, was the second wife of Harold,' and was devotedly attached to him. At once, and without a moment's hesitation, though well-nigh convulsed with grief, she folded her veil more closely around her, and accompanied the monks to the field of strife. For some time she paced it firmly, resolutely; and swallowing, her tears, cast keen and searching glances around. But shortly her strength and spirit seemed to fail, and she was compelled to lean on one of the monks. Still they proceeded, but slower and more slowly, till at length, sick at heart, and almost hopeless, it was only by the strenuous support of both the holy men that she could be got forward at all. Feeling that she sank more and more, that every moment her weight on their arms was increasing, they endeavoured to draw her aside from the thick of the slaughter, and turned into a little glade beneath the hollow of a hill, meaning to lay her there for a few moments till the deathlike sickness which was visible in her countenance should have passed away. Forgetful at this moment of every thing but their fair burthen, the monks perceived not that the place was occupied. Some sudden movement on their parts caused her to open her eyes, and she looked languidly and almost unconsciously around, when suddenly, with supernatural strength and a piercing scream, she darted from her supporters, and rushing to the hollow, threw herself on the ground, and clasped closely the body of a warrior which was laid there, watchedly reverendly by a person in humble attire. "Whom have you here?" asked the horror-stricken monks. "THE KING," replied he, with the deepest dejection of tone and manner. And so it was. In wandering over the field he had recognised the body of the fallen monarch close by the spot where the royal standard had been planted, and, (1) Ellis, Introd. to Domesday Book, vol. ii. pp. 79, 80. The harassed monks were now distressed indeed, and hardly knew what course to pursue at length, however, having with difficulty gained some assistance, they prepared to bear away the body of the unfortunate Editha, committing the charge of the king as they felt they safely might to him who had so piously protected it, until they could return with further aid. Having carefully marked the spot, with heavy hearts they departed. Shortly afterwards the franklein left in charge of the king, stooped over him to re-arrange some portion of his attire which was disordered, but whilst so engaged suddenly started to his feet with an exclamation of amazement. Again he stooped down, and placed his hand over the heart of the king. No-it was not fancy there was a pulsation there-feeble indeed, as the faintest summer's breath which hardly stirs the gossamer, but still perceptible. The worthy Saxon raised the king, chafed his hands, his temples;-the signs of animation became indisputable. When the monks returned to the spot, which they accurately remembered, the body of the king had been removed, and all further search proved vain. FRANK FAIRLEGH; OR, OLD COMPANIONS IN NEW SCENES.' CHAP. XIV. THE MEET AT EVERSLEY GORSE. Ir had been arranged between my mother and Oaklands, in the earlier part of the evening on which the events described in the last chapter took place, that Fanny should have her first ride on the day but one following, by which time it was supposed that the habit would be fit for service, and the young lady's mind sufficiently familiarized with the idea, to overcome a rather (as I considered) unnecessary degree of alarm, which I believe would have led her, had she been allowed to decide for herself, to relinquish it altogether. The only stipulation my mother insisted on was, that I should accompany my sister in the character of chaperon, an arrangement to which, as it was quite evident that Lawless intended to form one of the party, I made no objection. Accordingly, on the day appointed, Oaklands made his appearance about ten o'clock, mounted on his favourite horse, and attended by a groom, leading the grey Arab which was destined to carry Fanny, as well as a saddle horse for me. "She will be here directly," replied I; and the words had scarcely escaped my lips when she made her appearance, looking so lovely in her hat and habit, that I felt sure it would be all over with Lawless as soon as he saw her. 66 Why, Fanny," exclaimed Oaklands, dismounting slowly and with effort, for he was still lamentably weak, "I have not seen you in a habit so long, I declare I should scarcely have known you; the effect is quite magical." A smile and a blush were her only reply, and Oaklands continued, "Will you not like to mount now? Lawless will join us; but he means to abandon us again when we get near Eversley Gorse, for the superior attractions of a run with the subscription pack." "Oh, I hope the hounds will not come in our way," exclaimed Fanny; "if you think there is any chance of their frightening my horse, I had better not ride to-day." "I do not think you need feel the least alarm; though spirited, Rose Alba is perfectly quiet; besides, we are not bound to ride towards Eversley, unless you approve of doing so," replied Oaklands. As he spoke, Lawless rode up just in time to catch the last few words. He was dressed in an appropriate hunting costume, and sat his horse (a splendid black hunter, whose fiery temper rendered all those in whom the bump of caution was properly developed remarkably shy of him) as easily as if he formed part of the animal. As he checked his impatient steed, and taking off his hat, bowed to Fanny, his eyes sparkling, and his whole countenance beaming with pleasure and excitement, he really looked quite handsome. The same idea seemed to strike Fanny, who whispered to me, "If ever your friend has his picture taken, it should be on horseback." | "Good morning, Miss Fairlegh !" cried Lawless, as, flinging the rein to a groom, he sprang from the saddle, and bounded towards us; "glad to see you in what I consider the most becoming dress a lady can wear,very becoming it is too," he added, with a slight bend of the head to mark the compliment. "What did I hear you say about not riding to Eversley? You never can be so cruel as to deny me the pleasure of your company, and I must go there to join the meet. I would not have hunted to-day, though, if I had known you wished to ride in another direction." "It was only that Fanny was afraid the hounds might frighten her horse," replied I. 66 'Oh, not the least danger; I'll take care of all that," returned Lawless; "the little white mare is as gentle cheek flushed with anger. Apparently, however, changing his intention, he drew himself up haughtily, and turning on his heel, walked slowly to his horse, mounted, and reining him back a few paces, sat motionless as an equestrian statue, gazing on the party with a gloomy brow, until we had started, when, suddenly applying the spur, he joined us in a couple of bounds, and took his station at Fanny's left hand. Lawless having appropriated the off side, devoted himself to the double task of managing the Arab, and doing the agreeable to its fair rider, which latter design he endeavoured to accomplish by chattering incessantly. After proceeding a mile or two, Lawless sustaining the whole burden of the conversation, while Oaklands never spoke a word, we came upon a piece of level green sward. "Here's a famous place for a canter, Miss Fairlegh," exclaimed Lawless; lean a little more towards methat's right. Are you ready?-just tickle her neck with the whip-not too hard-jerk the rein slightly gently, mare, gently!-there's a good girl, that's it! Eh! don't you see, she settles into her pace as quietly as a rocking horse-oh! she's a sweet thing for a featherweight;" and restraining the plunging of his fiery horse, he leaned over, and patted the Arab's arched neck, as they went off at an easy canter. I was about to follow their example, but observing that Oaklands delayed putting his horse in motion, it occurred to me that this being the first ride he had taken since his illness, the exertion might possibly be too much for his strength, I waited, therefore, till he joined me, when I inquired whether he felt any ill effects from the unwonted exertion? "No," was the reply. "I feel an odd kind of fluttering in my side, but it is only weakness." "Had you not better give it up for to-day, and let me ride back with you? I dare say Lawless would not care about hunting for once, and would see Fanny home." "I shall NOT go back!" he replied sternly; then checking himself, he added in a milder tone, "I mean to say it is not necessary-really I do not feel ill-besides it was only a passing sensation, and is already nearly gone." He paused for a moment, and then continued, "How very dictatorial and disagreeable Lawless has grown of late, and what absurd nonsense he does talk when he is in the society of ladies! I wonder your sister can tolerate it." "She not only tolerates it," returned I, slightly piqued at the contemptuous tone in which he spoke of Lawless, as a lamb; I cantered her across the park myself yester-"but is excessively amused by it; why, she said last day on purpose to try-the sweetest thing for a lady I ever set eyes on. You have got some good cattle in your stables, Harry, I must own that." "Hadn't we better think of mounting? Time will not stand still for us," observed I. “Let me assist you, Fanny," said Oaklands, advancing towards her. Thank you," replied Fanny, drawing back; "but I need not give you the trouble; Frank will help me." "Here, get out of the way!" cried Lawless, as I hesitated, fancying from the shade on Oaklands' brow that he might not like to be interfered with; "I see none of you know how to help a lady properly. Bring up that mare," he continued, "closer,-that's it; stand before her head. Now, Miss Fairlegh, take a firm hold of the pummel; place your foot in my hand-are your ready-spring! there we are famously done! Oh, you know what you are about, I see. Let me give you the rein-between the fingers; yes, the snaffle will manage her best; the curb may hang loose, and only use it if it is necessary; let the groom stand by her till I am mounted; the black horse is rather fidgety; soh boy, soh! quiet!-stand, you brute !-there's a good boy; steady, steady-off we go!" As Lawless pushed by me at the beginning of this speech, Oaklands advanced towards him, and his pale night he was quite delightful." "I gave her credit for better taste," was Oaklands' reply; and striking his horse impatiently with the spur, he dashed forward, and in a few moments we had rejoined the others. "I hope illness has not soured Harry's temper, but he certainly appears more prone to take offence than in former days," was my inward comment, as I pondered over his last words. "I am afraid Fanny has annoyed him; I must speak to her, and give her a hint to be more careful for the future." Half an hour's brisk riding brought us to the outskirts of a broad common, a great portion of which was covered by the gorse or furze from which it took its name. Around the sides of this were gathered from sixty to eighty well-mounted men, either collected in groups, to discuss the various topics of local interest which occupy the minds of country gentlemen, or riding up and down in parties of two and three together, impatient for the commencement of their morning's sport; while, in a small clear space, nearly in the centre of the furze-brake, were stationed the hounds, with the huntsman and whippers-in. "There!" exclaimed Lawless, "look at that! Talk about operas and exhibitions!-where will you find an exhibition as well worth seeing as that is? I call that a sight for an Empress. Now are not you glad I made | confusion, cigars were thrown away, hats pressed firmly you come, Miss Fairlegh?" down upon the brow, and, with a rush like the out-burst of some mighty torrent, the whole field to a man swept rapidly onward. "The red coats look very gay and picturesque, certainly," replied Fanny; " and what loves of horses, with their satin skins glistening in the sunshine! but I wish Rose Alba would not prick up her ears in that way; I'm rather frightened." While Lawless was endeavouring to convince her there was no danger, and that he was able and willing to frustrate any nefarious designs which might enter into the graceful little head of the white Arab, a young man rode up to Oaklands, and, shaking him warmly by the hand, congratulated him on being once more on horseback. "Ah, Whitcombe, it's a long time since you and I have met," returned Harry; "you have been abroad, I think?" "Oh, he's all right, only he has grown a great pair of moustaches, and won't cut them off; he has taken up a notion they make him look killing, I believe; he was here a minute ago,-yes, there he is, talking to Randolph Come and speak to him, he'll be delighted to see you." Keep your eye on Fanny's mare," said Oaklands, as he rode past me, "she seems fidgety, and that fellow Lawless is thinking more about the hounds than he is of her, though he does boast so much of the care he can take of her. I shall be with you again directly." 66 "Do you see the gentleman on the bright bay, Miss Fairlegh?" exclaimed Lawless; "there, he's speaking to Tom Field, the huntsman, now; he has got his watch in his hand that's Mr. Rand, the master of the hounds; you'll see some fun directly. Ah! I thought so." As he spoke, at a signal from the huntsman, the hounds dashed into cover, and were instantly lost to sight in a waving sea of gorse, save when a head or neck became visible for a moment, as some dog more eager than the rest sprang over a tangled brake, through which he was unable to force his way. Oh, you beauties!" resumed Lawless, enthusiastically, "only watch them; they're drawing it in firstrate style, and there's rare lying in that cover; now see how the furze shakes-look at their sterns flourishing; have at him there-have at him; that's right, Toincheer 'em on, boy-good huntsman is Tom Field-there again!—a fox, I'll bet 500l. to a pony-hark !-a whimper-now wait a challenge! another and anotherlisten to them-there's music!-watch the right-hand corner-that's where he'll break cover for a thousand, and if he does what a run we shall have! Look at those fools," he added, pointing to a couple of cockney-looking fellows who were cantering towards the very place he had pointed to, "they'll head him back as sure as fate, -hold hard there-why does not somebody stop them? By Jove, I'll give them a taste of the double thong when I get up with them, even if it's the Lord Mayor of London and his brother. Look to your sister, Frank, I'll be back directly." "Wait one minute," shouted I, but in vain, for before the words were well out of my mouth, he had driven the spurs into his eager horse, and was galloping furiously in the direction of the unhappy delinquents who had excited his indignation. My reason for asking him to wait a minute was, that just as the hounds began drawing the cover, I had made the agreeable discovery, that the strap to which one of my saddlegirths was buckled, had given way, and that there was nothing for it but to dismount and repair the evil; and I had scarcely concluded the best temporary arrangement I was able to effect, when Lawless started in pursuit of the cockneys. Almost at the same moment a countryman, stationed at the outside of the gorse, shouted "Tally-ho!" and the fox broke cover in gallant style, going away at a rattling pace, with four or five couple of hounds on his traces. In an instant all was In the meanwhile Fanny's mare, which had for some minutes shown symptoms of excitement, pawing the ground with her fore-foot, pricking up her ears, and tossing her head impatiently, began, as Lawless rode off, to plunge in a manner which threatened at every moment to unseat her rider, and as several horsemen dashed by her, becoming utterly unmanageable, she set off at a wild gallop, drowning in the clatter of her hoofs Fanny's agonized cry for help. Driven nearly frantic by the peril in which my sister was placed, I was even yet prevented for a minute or more from hastening to her assistance, as my own horse, frightened by the occurrences I have described, struggled so violently to follow his companions, as to render it very difficult for me to hold, and quite impossible to remount him; so that when at length I succeeded in springing on his back, the hounds were already out of sight, and Fanny and her runaway steed so far ahead of me, that it seemed inevitable some accident must occur before I could overtake them, and it was with a sinking heart that I gave my horse the rein, and dashed forward in pursuit. The course which Lawless had taken when he started on his wild-goose chase, was down a ride cut through the furze, and it was along this turfy track that Rose Alba was now hurrying in her wild career. The horse on which I was mounted was a young thorough-bred, standing nearly sixteen hands high, and I felt certain that in the pursuit in which I was engaged, the length of his stride would tell, and that eventually we must come up with the fugitives, but so fleet was the little Arab, and so light the weight she had to carry, that I was sorry to perceive I gained upon them but slowly. It was clear that I should not overtake them before they reached the outskirts of the common, and then who could say what course the mare might take, -what obstacles might not be in her way? On-on, we go in our headlong course, the turf reechoing to the muffled strokes of the horses' feet, while the furze, waving in the wind, seemed to glide by us in a rapid stream. Onward,-still onward; the edge of the gorse appears a dark line in the distance--it is passed; we are crossing the belt of turf that surrounds it,--and now in what direction will the mare proceed?-Will she take the broad road to the left, which leads again to the open country by a gentle ascent, where she can be easily overtaken and stopped, or will she turn to the right, and follow the lane which must take her across the terrace-field to the brook, swollen by the late rains into a river? See !-she slackens her pace,-she wavers, she doubts, she will choose the road! No; by Heaven! she turns to the right, and dashing down the lane like a flash of lightning, is for a moment hidden from view. But the space of time, short as it was, when her speed slackened, has enabled me to gain upon her considerably; and when I again catch sight of her, she is not more than fifty yards a-head. Forward! good horse,-forward! Life or death hangs upon thy fleetness. Vain hope! another turn brings us in sight of the brook, swollen by the breaking-up of the frost into a dark, turbulent stream. Fanny perceives it, too, and utters a cry of terror, which rings like a death-knell on my ear. There seems no possibility of escape for her,on the left hand an impenetrable hedge, on the right a steep bank, rising almost perpendicularly to the height of a man's head, in front the rushing water, while the mare, apparently irritated to frenzy by my pursuit, gallops wildly forward-Ha! what is that? a shout and the figure of a man on horseback appears on the high ground to the right, between Fanny and the stream. He perceives the danger, and if he dare attempt the leap from the bank, may yet save her. Oh that I were in his place. Hark! he shouts |