On they came, the thoroughbred swerving violently at one stem after another--the young girl's strong figure swaying to her balance at each headlong movement. He could see her set face, pale under the tan, and he could see the desperate exertion of her strength. He sprang forward and ran down between the trees at the top of his speed. CHAPTER X. There is nothing equal to the absolute fearlessness of a naturally brave man who has no experience of the risk he runs and is bent on saving the life of the woman he loves. Louis Lawrence remembered afterwards what he had done and how he had done it, but he was unconscious of what he was doing at the time. He rushed down the hill between the closer trees, and with utter recklessness sprang at the bridle as the infuriated mare dashed past him. Grasping snaffle and curb--tight drawn as they were--in both hands, he threw all his light weight upon them and allowed himself to be dragged along the ground between the trees at the imminent risk of his life--a risk so terrible that Fanny Trehearne turned paler for him than for her own danger. In half a dozen more strides they might both have been killed. But the mare stopped, quivering, tried to rear, but could not lift Lawrence far from the ground nor shake off his desperate hold, plunged once and again, and then stood quite still, trembling violently. Lawrence scrambled to his feet, still holding the bridle, and promptly placed himself in front of the mare. For one breathless instant, Lawrence looked into Fanny's face, and neither spoke nor moved. Both were still very pale. Then the young girl slipped off, the reins in her hand. "That was uncommonly well done," she said, with great calm. "You've saved my life." She no longer looked at him while she spoke, but patted and stroked the thoroughbred, looking her over with a critical eye. "Oh--that's all right," answered Lawrence. "Don't mention it!" He laughed nervously, still panting from his violent exertion. Fanny herself was not out of breath, but the colour did not come back to her sunburnt cheeks at once, and her hand was hardly steady yet. She did not laugh with Lawrence, nor even smile, but she looked long into his eyes. "I may not mention it, but I shan't forget it," she said slowly. "It's one to me, isn't it?" asked Lawrence, who, in reality, was by far the cooler and more collected of the two. "How do you mean?" enquired Fanny, knitting her brows half-angrily. "One to me--in our game, you know," said the young fellow. "The game we agreed to play, yesterday." "Yes--it's one to you. By the bye--you're not hurt anywhere, are you?" She looked him over, as she had looked over her mare, with the same critical glance. His clothes were a little torn, here and there, being but light summer things, and his hat had disappeared, but it was tolerably clear that he was in no way injured.