It was past midnight, and it seemed to some that they had been riding an

eternity; yet even these roused at sight of the great western highway.

The night coaches had long gone eastwards, and the road, so busy by day,

stretched before them dim, shadowy, and empty, as solitary in the

darkness as the remotest lane. But the knowledge that Bath lay at the

end of it--and no more than nine miles away--and that there they could

procure aid, fresh horses and willing helpers, put new life even into

the most weary. Even Mr. Fishwick, now groaning with fatigue and now

crying 'Oh dear! oh dear!' as he bumped, in a way that at another time

must have drawn laughter from a stone, took heart of grace; while Sir

George settled down to a dogged jog that had something ferocious in its

determination. If he could not trot, he would amble; if he could not

amble, he would walk; if his horse could not walk, he would go on his

feet. He still kept eye and ear bent forward, but in effect he had given

up hope of overtaking the quarry before it reached Bath; and he was

taken by surprise when the servant, who rode first and had eased his

horse to a walk at the foot of Haslebury Hill, drew rein and cried to

the others to listen.

For a moment the heavy breathing of the four horses covered all other

sounds. Then in the darkness and the distance, on the summit of the rise

before them, a wheel creaked as it grated over a stone. A few seconds

and the sound was repeated; then all was silent. The chaise had passed

over the crest and was descending the other side.

Oblivious of everything except that Julia was within his reach,

forgetful even of Dunborough by whose side he had ridden all night--in

silence but with many a look askance--Sir George drove his horse

forward, scrambled and trotted desperately up the hill, and, gaining the

summit a score of yards in front of his companions, crossed the brow and

drew rein to listen. He had not been mistaken. He could hear the wheels

creaking, and the wheelers stumbling and slipping in the darkness below

him; and with a cry he launched his horse down the descent.

Whether the people with the chaise heard the cry or not, they appeared

to take the alarm at that moment. He heard a whip crack, the carriage

bound forward, the horses break into a reckless canter. But if they

recked little he recked less; already he was plunging down the hill

after them, his beast almost pitching on its head with every stride. The

huntsman knows, however, that many stumbles go to a fall. The bottom was

gained in safety by both, and across the flat they went, the chaise

bounding and rattling behind the scared horses. Now Sir George had a

glimpse of the black mass through the gloom, now it seemed to be gaining

on him, now it was gone, and now again he drew up to it and the dim

outline bulked bigger and plainer, and bigger and plainer, until he was

close upon it, and the cracking whips and the shouts of the postboys

rose above the din of hoofs and wheels. The carriage was swaying

perilously, but Sir George saw that the ground was rising, and that up

the hill he must win; and, taking his horse by the head, he lifted it on

by sheer strength until his stirrup was abreast of the hind wheels. A

moment, and he made out the bobbing figure of the leading postboy, and,

drawing his pistol, cried to him to stop.




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