While I once more apologize to my reader for the length to which this narrative has run, I owe it to myself to state that, had I presented it in the garbled and incorrect version which came before Conyers, and had I interpolated all the misconceptions he incurred, the mistakes he first fell into and then corrected, I should have been far more tedious and intolerable still; and now I am again under weigh, with easy canvas, but over a calm sea, and under a sky but slightly clouded. CHAPTER XIV. BARRINGTON'S FORD Conyers had scarcely finished his reading when he was startled by the galloping of horses under his window; so close, indeed, did they come that they seemed to shake the little cottage with their tramp. He looked out, but they had already swept past, and were hidden from his view by the copse that shut out the river. At the same instant he heard the confused sound of many voices, and what sounded to him like the plash of horses in the stream. Urged by a strong curiosity, he hurried downstairs and made straight for the river by a path that led through the trees; but before he could emerge from the cover he heard cries of “Not there! not there! Lower down!” “No, no! up higher! up higher! Head up the stream, or you 'll be caught in the gash!” “Don't hurry; you've time enough!” When he gained the bank, it was to see three horsemen, who seemed to be cheering, or, as it might be, warning a young girl who, mounted on a powerful black horse, was deep in the stream, and evidently endeavoring to cross it. Her hat hung on the back of her neck by its ribbon, and her hair had also fallen down; but one glance was enough to show that she was a consummate horsewoman, and whose courage was equal to her skill; for while steadily keeping her horse's head to the swift current, she was careful not to control him overmuch, or impede the free action of his powers. Heeding, as it seemed, very little the counsels or warnings showered on her by the bystanders, not one of whom, to Conyers's intense amazement, had ventured to accompany her, she urged her horse steadily forward. “Don't hurry,--take it easy!” called out one of the horsemen, as he looked at his watch. “You have fifty-three minutes left, and it's all turf.” “She 'll do it,--I know she will!” “She 'll lose,--she must lose!” “It's ten miles to Foynes Gap!” “It's more!” “It's less!” “There!--see!--she's in, by Jove! she's in!” These varying comments were now arrested by the intense interest of the moment, the horse having impatiently plunged into a deep pool, and struck out to swim with all the violent exertion of an affrighted animal. “Keep his head up!” “Let him free, quite free!” “Get your foot clear of the stirrup!” cried out the bystanders, while in lower tones they muttered, “She would cross here!” “It's all her own fault!” Just at this instant she turned in her saddle, and called out something which, drowned in the rush of the river, did not reach them.