The forest rang with the cry of the hounds and the shout of the huntsmen. And now the sounds would die away and now peal out upon the air as the chase still kept up the winding course of the river towards its head. One foremost in the chase drew rein upon the brink of an awful chasm, a deep rocky gorge full of pointed crags, among which the torrent roared and whirled in an agony of haste to escape from the torture. It was Hagar, who, with wild heart, fierce eye, and crimsoned cheek, drew up upon the brink. Behind her thundered the steed of one, whom hearing, she looked behind, reined back her hunter on his haunches, and giving him a cheer and shout, cleared the chasm at a bound. It was an awful leap. The hoofs of the horse just grazed the edges of the rocks as he planted them firmly and struggled up the bank. The other rider, who was no other than our friend, Gusty May, paused breathless on the rocky ledge and gazed at her. Her steed was dancing on the opposite bluff, her form was exultant, her eye flashing. Raising her riding cap above her head, she waved it in the air, and, with a joyous shout of defiance, shot down the ravine and disappeared. “Devil fetch that girl!—God bless her!—she’ll break my heart or her own neck, or both, yet!—I know she will! Now what the deuce is to be done? My horse can never take that leap—never!—the attempt would be certain death to both. But then if I shirk it, she will say—I know she will—the little limb of Old Scratch!—that I was afraid.” Gusty was in a perfect puzzle. “If there were an _equal_ chance now of life and death one might venture, but as it is—pshaw!” And so muttering, he turned his horse’s head, and rode up the course of the stream to where the chasm was narrow, and over which a rude bridge had been constructed. Hagar was the first in at the death—down in the dark ravine. Other hunters approached rapidly from other points, and last, upon account of his delay at the gorge, up rode Gusty May, just in time to see the hunters separate, and to attend Hagar to Heath Hall. Seeing the intense mortification depicted in his countenance, she turned her wild eyes on him kindly, and said, “You must get a better hunter, Gusty; I could not have spurred that steed to the leap.”