Whatever slight apprehension may have been on her mind had vanished by the time she had half completed the circuit made by the main walk. She had reached one of the mounds which at that time were covered with rhododendrons, and paused for a moment to see if there was sign of a bud. A blackbird flew out from among the dense leafage, and she followed it with her eyes as well as she could while she walked on, crossing the narrow path that led to the seats on the mound. But at the moment of crossing she was startled out of her senses by the sound of a shout from some distance down this path--a loud shout followed by several others rather less imperative. She gave a little exclamation of terror, raising her muff to her face. Glancing in the direction whence the commotion was coming, she gave another cry, seeing a tall man rush toward her with outstretched arms--waving arms, frantically beckoning to her while he shouted: “Miss Burney! Miss Burney!” She waited no longer. She turned and fled along the broad walk, making for one of the many labyrinths not so very far away, and after her ran the man, still shouting and gesticulating. She could hear the sound of his feet and his voice behind her, as well as the cries of the other men who were endeavouring to keep pace with him. On they came, and there flashed through her active brain, in spite of the horrible apprehension which thrilled through every nerve in her body, as she doubled back upon the path which she had just traversed, the lines written by Dr. Goldsmith and often quoted by her friend Dr. Johnson: A hare whom hounds and horns pursue, Pants to the place from whence at first he flew. She realised, all too painfully, the feelings of the poor hare at that moment. She longed for a friendly earth to open up before her. They were behind her--those wild huntsmen, one hoarsely yelling to her she knew not what, the others, more shrill, shouting to her to stop. She was too frightened to think of obeying any of them. On she ran, and it seemed that she was increasing the distance between her and her panting pursuers, until one of them, having better wind, managed to shoot ahead of the others, and to get close enough to say in a voice that was not all gasps: “Madam, madam, the doctor begs you to stop!” She glanced over her shoulder, still flying. “No, no, I cannot--I dare not!” she gasped. “Madam, you must--you must: it hurts the King to run!” cried the man. Then she stopped. The man, an ordinary attendant, stood in front of her. He was more breathless than Miss Burney. “The doctor, madam,” he faltered, “'twas the doctor--he thought at first that His Majesty was--was--but that was at first--now he says you must please not lead His Majesty on--'tis all too much for him. Save us! How you did go, madam! Who would ha' thought it?”