To the horror and astonishment of his friend, Sir Hilton made another dash and rush, darting here and there all over the hall, cutting and swishing about with his heavy riding-whip as if it were a sabre, and he a mounted cavalry man, putting the well-learnt pursuing practice well into effect upon the enemy he seemed to see. "What the deuce shall I do?" muttered the doctor, breathlessly, after playing the enemy in his efforts to escape a slash. "That cham, Jack," cried Sir Hilton, catching his friend by the arm. "Sham, and no mistake. Not fizz at all, but that old brewing of honey-- mead--metheglin--old Saxon swizzle. There they go again--the bees-- swarming--all round and round my head. Yah! Look out--you'll be stung." "Oh, I'm all right," said Granton, humouring him. "Be cool. Stand still a moment, and let them go." "Thousands upon thousands of them," cried Sir Hilton. "B-r-r-r-r-r! Look how they dart about in diamonds, zig-zags, rhomboids--buzz-z!" "Yes. How queer!" said Granton, taking the speaker's arm again. "Let's walk quietly out into the air. They won't follow us out." "I don't know," cried the unfortunate man, shaking himself free and holding his hand and whip as if to guard his head. "Buzz! B-r-r-r! How they are going it! Jack, old man, someone ought to get a hive. Rub it with beer and sugar. Take the swarm, you know. Swarm of bees, you know." "Swarm of bees in May." "Is worth a load of hay." "Yes, old man; but we haven't time now. Come along. La Sylphide's waiting. Oh, if I could only get him mounted! He'd ride like the very deuce, thinking that the bees were after him." "Let me be, you fool!" cried Sir Hilton, angrily. "Take care of yourself, you coward. You'll be getting us both stung. Oh, I see; on the look-out for a job. Cure the patient's stings. Ammonia, eh? I know. Country gentleman picks up a bit. Here, horrible!" he cried, with a frantic leap aside. "They're settling on me. Swarms--millions-- hanging in pockets like they do outside a hive. Buzz-uzz-zz! Here, Jack, old man, I daren't move. Come and sweep 'em off. Steady--softly. Quiet does it. There she is--the queen. Take her gently. She won't sting. That's good; now pop her in the hive, and they'll all follow her. Hah-h-h-h! That's better. Awkward position for a man to have the bees settling upon him and getting into his hair." "Very, old chap; but they're all gone now." "Not quite, Jack. Don't you hear the mur-mur-mur-mur--?" "Oh, yes; quite plain." "Pooh!" cried Sir Hilton, with a sudden change coming over him. "What a fool I am! I thought it was the bees, and all the time it's only the murmur of the crowd on the racecourse." "Why, so it is," said the doctor. "I thought it was bees." "No, the people; and I've got to ride in the big race." "To be sure, so you have, old chap. Suppose we go and look at the mare." Sir Hilton was quite quiet now, and looked at him seriously.