Alas! for trusting Annabel!—soon shall she wake from her fond dream, soon wake to wo, to anguish. Again they mount their steeds, again they sweep the meadows down to the very brink of the broad deep transparent Wharfe—and now the heronshaw is sprung—he flaps his dark gray vans, the hermit bird of the waters, and slowly soars away, till the falconer’s shrill whoop and the sharp whistling flutter of the fleet pinions in his rear arouse him to his danger—up! up! he soars—up! up! scaling to the very sky in small but swift gyrations, while side by side the well matched falcons wheel circling around him still, and still outtopping till all the three are lost in the gray fleecy clouds—the clouds!—no one has seen—no one has even dreamed, engrossed in the wild fervor of the sport, that all the sky was overclouded, and the thick blackness of the thunder-storm driving up wind, and settling down in terrible proximity to the earth. Away! away! what heed they the dark storm-clouds—the increasing blast?—these equestrians. Heavens! what a flash—how keen! how close! how livid! the whole horizon showed for a moment’s space the broad blue glare of fearful living light—and simultaneously the thunder bursts above them—a crash as of ten thousand pieces of earth’s heaviest ordnance shot off in one wild clatter. The horses of the party were all careering at their speed, their maddest speed, across a broad green pasture, bordered on the right hand by the broad channel of the Wharfe, and on the left by an impracticable fence of tall old thorn, with a deep ditch on either side, and a stout timber railing. The two fair sisters were in front, leading the joyous cavalcade, with their eyes in the clouds, their hearts full of the fire of the chase, when that broad dazzling glare burst full into their faces. Terrified by the livid glare, and the appalling crash of the reverberated thunder, the horses of the sisters bolted diverse, Annabel’s toward the broad and rapid Wharfe, between which and the meadow through which they had been so joyously careering there was no fence or barrier at that spot—Marian’s toward the dangerous ox-fence which has been mentioned. The charger of De Vaux, who rode the next behind them, started indeed and whirled about, but was almost immediately controlled by the strong arm and skilful horsemanship of his bold rider, but of the grooms, who followed, several were instantly dismounted, and there were only three or four who, mastering their terrified and fractious beasts, galloped off to the aid of their young mistresses—they were both good equestrians and ordinarily fearless, but in such peril what woman could preserve her wonted intrepidity unshaken—the sky as black as night, with ever and anon a sharp clear stream of the electric fluid dividing the dark storm clouds, and the continuous thunders rolling and crashing overhead—their horses mad with terror, and gifted by that very madness with tenfold speed and