"All right, Colonel; I thought he'd, take your fancy.--Get down, Martin, and let down those stirrups a couple of holes for the Colonel, will you?--And you, boy, tumble off there. I'll see whether that old vagabond will refuse with me.--Ah, you're a sly old scoundrel, Jack; but I think we'll clear the gate, old boy!" Alsager was already in the saddle, and Spurrier was tightening the girths, when the former heard a low rumbling sound gradually growing more distinct. "What's that?" he asked his companion. "What?" asked Spurrier, with his head still under the saddle-flap; but when he stood upright and listened, he said, "That's a runaway! I know the sound too well; and--and a pair! By the Lord, the grays!" They were standing close by the hedge which separated the meadow from the road. It was a high quickset hedge, with thick post-and-rail fence running through it, and it grew on the top of a high bank with a six-foot drop into the road. Standing in his stirrups and craning over the hedge, Laurence saw a sight which made his blood run cold. Just having breasted the railway-bridge, and tearing down the incline at their maddest pace, came the grays, and in the phaeton, which swung frightfully from side to side, sat Lady Mitford--alone! A dust-stained form gathering itself up out of the road in the distance looked like a groom; but Sir Charles was not to be seen. Lady Mitford still held the reins, and appeared to be endeavouring to regain command over the ponies; but her efforts were evidently utterly useless. Mr. Spurrier, who had mounted, comprehended the whole scene in a second, and roared out, "Run, Martin! run, you boy! get out into the lane, and stop these devils! Hoi!" this to the grooms in the distance, to whom he telegraphed with his whip. "They don't understand, the brutes! and she'll be killed. Here, Colonel, to the right-about! Five hundred yards off there's a gate, and we can get through and head them. What are you at? you're never going at the hedge. By G--, you'll break your neck, man!"