The black was coming round little by little; no horse living could have resisted the combined pull of the one rein and the pressure of the consummate rider on the other side. More and more the man swung her right-handed, never relaxing his steady pressure for an instant, and, at last, with unspeakable relief, she realized that they were galloping parallel with the edge of the quarry and not towards it. It had been touch and go—another twenty yards; and then, at the same moment, they both saw it. Straight in front of them, stretching back from the top of the pit, there yawned a great gap. She had forgotten the landslip during the last summer. She saw the man lift his crop, and give the black a heavy blow on the near side of his head; she heard his frenzied shout of "Pull—for God’s sake—pull!" and then she was galloping alone. Dimly she heard a dreadful crash and clatter behind her; she had one fleeting glimpse of a chestnut horse rolling over and over, and bumping sickeningly downwards, while something else bumped downwards too; then she was past the gap with a foot to spare. That one stunning blow with the crop had swung the amazed black through half a right-angle to safety; it had made the chestnut swerve through half a right-angle the other way to—— Ah, no! not that. Not dead—not dead. He couldn’t be that—not Danny. And she knew it was Danny; had known it all along. Blowing like a steam-engine, the black had stopped exhausted, and she left him standing where he was, as she ran back to the edge of the gap. "Danny! Danny—my man!" she called in an agony. "Speak—just a word, Danny. My God! it was all my fault!" Feverishly she started to clamber down towards the still figure sprawling motionless below. But no answer came to her; only the thud of countless other horses, as the field came up to the scene of the disaster. Sir Hubert, almost beside himself with emotion, was babbling incoherently; the secretary and Joe Mathers were little better. "Only Danny could have done it," he cried over and over again. "Only Danny could have saved her. And, by Gad! sir, he has—and given his life to do it." He peered over the top, and called out anxiously to the girl below: "Careful, my darling, careful; we can get to him round by the road." But the girl paid no heed to her father’s cry: and when half a dozen men, headed by David Dawlish, rode furiously in by the old entrance to the quarry, they found her sitting on the ground with the unconscious man’s head pillowed on her lap. She lifted her face, streaming with tears, and looked at the secretary. "He’s dead, Uncle David. Danny! my Danny! And it was all my fault." For a few moments no one spoke; then one of the men stepped forward. "May I examine him, Miss Gollanfield?" He knelt down beside the motionless figure. "I’m not a doctor, but——" For what seemed an eternity he bent over him; then he rose quickly. "A flask at once. There is still life."