He sprang forward like an arrow from the bow. As they drew near the
flying horse, Ida shifted her whip to her left hand, so that her right
should be free, and, leaning as far in the saddle as she could with
safety, she made a snatch at Adonis's rein at the moment she came
alongside him. She would have caught the rein, she might have stopped
the horse or turned it aside--God alone knows!--but as her fingers
almost grasped it, Maude, steadied in her seat by the nearness of her
would-be rescuer, raised her whip and struck Ida across the bosom and
across the outstretched hand. The blow, in its finish, fell on Adonis's
reeking neck. With a snort he tore away from the other horse and swept
onwards, with Maude once again swaying in her saddle. Ida gazed at her
in speechless terror for an instant, then, as if she could look no
longer, she flung up her arm across her eyes.
A moment afterwards a cry, a shrill scream, that rang in her ears for
many a day afterwards, rose above the clatter of Adonis's hoofs, and
before the cry had died away horse and rider had fallen with awful
force into and across the hole. Then came a dead silence, broken only
by the sound of the horse's iron shoes as he kicked wildly and pawed in
a vain attempt to rise. Ida rode up, and flinging herself to the
ground, tried to approach the struggling animal. But, indeed, it was
horror and not fear that struck her motionless for a moment; for horse
and rider were mixed in awful confusion, and already Maude Falconer's
graceful form was stained with blood, and battered by the madly kicking
animal, now in its death-throes.
An instant after, before she could recover from her paralysis of
terror--the whole affair was one of a moment and had passed as quickly
as a flitting cloud--Stafford was by her side, and at work extricating
woman from horse. It was not an easy task, for though Adonis was now
dead, a part of Maude's body lay under his shoulder; but with utmost
herculean strength Stafford succeeded in getting her clear, and lifted
her out of the hole on to the grass. Kneeling beside him, Ida, calm
now, but trembling, raised Maude's head on her knee and wiped the blood
from the beautiful face. Its loveliness was not marred, there was no
bruise or cut upon it, the blood having flown from a wound just behind
the temple.
Stafford ran to the brook for some water and tried to force a few drops
through the clenched teeth, while Ida bathed the white brow. Suddenly a
tremor ran through him, and he put his hand over Maude's heart. It was
quite still; he bent his cheek to her lips; no breath met them. For a
moment or two he could not speak, then he stayed Ida's ministering
hand, and looking up at her, said: "It is of no use. She is dead!"