Bess heard the cheering cry, and she answered to the call. She roused all her energies; strained every sinew, and put forth all her remaining strength. Once more, on wings of swiftness, she bore him away from his pursuers, and Major Mowbray, who had now gained the shore, and made certain of securing him, beheld him spring, like a wounded hare, from beneath his very hand. "It cannot hold out," said the major; "it is but an expiring flash; that gallant steed must soon drop." "She be regularly booked, that's certain," said the postboy. "We shall find her on the road." Contrary to all expectation, however, Bess held on, and set pursuit at defiance. Her pace was swift as when she started. But it was unconscious and mechanical action. It wanted the ease, the lightness, the life of her former riding. She seemed screwed up to a task which she must execute. There was no flogging, no gory heel; but the heart was throbbing, tugging at the sides within. Her spirit spurred her onwards. Her eye was glazing; her chest heaving; her flank quivering; her crest again fallen. Yet she held on. "She is dying!" said Dick. "I feel it----" No, she held on. Fulford is past. The towers and pinnacles of York burst upon him in all the freshness, the beauty, and the glory of a bright, clear, autumnal morn. The ancient city seemed to smile a welcome--a greeting. The noble Minster and its serene and massive pinnacles, crocketed, lantern-like, and beautiful; St. Mary's lofty spire, All-Hallows Tower, the massive mouldering walls of the adjacent postern, the grim castle, and Clifford's neighboring keep--all beamed upon him, like a bright-eyed face, that laughs out openly. "It is done--it is won," cried Dick. "Hurrah! hurrah!" And the sunny air was cleft with his shouts. Bess was not insensible to her master's exultation. She neighed feebly in answer to his call, and reeled forwards. It was a piteous sight to see her,--to mark her staring, protruding eyeball,--her shaking flanks; but, while life and limb held together, she held on. Another mile is past. York is near. "Hurrah!" shouted Dick; but his voice was hushed. Bess tottered--fell. There was a dreadful gasp--a parting moan--a snort; her eye gazed, for an instant, upon her master, with a dying glare; then grew glassy, rayless, fixed. A shiver ran through her frame. Her heart had burst. Dick's eyes were blinded, as with rain. His triumph, though achieved, was forgotten--his own safety was disregarded. He stood weeping and swearing, like one beside himself. "And art thou gone, Bess?" cried he, in a voice of agony, lifting up his courser's head, and kissing her lips, covered with blood-flecked foam. "Gone, gone! and I have killed the best steed that was ever crossed! And for what?" added Dick, beating his brow with his clenched hand--"for what? for what?" At this moment the deep bell of the Minster clock tolled out the hour of six. "I am answered," gasped Dick; "_it was to hear those strokes_."