He, however, gave her confidence, and encouragement, and when the hounds were put into cover, piloted her away down a by-road, where he dismounted, and altered The Goat’s bit. Lumley was at home in this part of the world, he knew every fence and field like his A B C, and by merely sticking to roads and gates Letty and her escort, got over a respectable amount of the country, and actually made their appearance soon after the fox (a well-known veteran) was run to ground in a quarry pit. Blagdon and his friends hailed the lady’s arrival, with boisterous shouts, and, after some hesitation and an anxious five minutes, her husband assented to her timid suggestion, ‘that _now_ she might go home.’ Unfortunately Lumley did not happen to be out on the memorable day when Mrs. Blagdon was overpowered by her mount, and The Goat, after plunging and rearing,--frantic at being held in, and stimulated by galloping horses, let himself go,--and, with a light weight on his back, carried his reluctant rider in the very first flight, for two triumphant miles. It was true she was frozen with fear, her heart thumped like a turbine engine; but she passed Connie Rashleigh as an arrow from a bow, and cut down the Baron and the redoubtable Lola. Such was The Goat’s enthusiasm, such his passion for the chase, that he followed hard upon the hounds; vainly did the huntsman yell and swear, the lady was helpless--this was The Goat’s day out! It was also his last day. In negotiating a yawning fence (wired) he came down badly, and a thrill went through the spectators--Mrs. Blagdon was done for--she was killed! No, The Goat had broken his back, but the lady escaped with a fractured arm, and some bad bruises. Presently a carriage and a gun were borrowed, the former for the lady; and she was taken home by her husband, who, far from being concerned and sympathetic, was furious at the loss of a valuable hunter, and angrily assured her that “she was a little idiot to let the brute get away with her. Why, Connie could ride him on a thread!” Letty was a good deal shaken, her fracture was excessively painful, and the doctor ordered her to keep her room for at least a fortnight, which command she was only too thankful to obey. Her nerves were completely shattered; she was visited by horrid dreams; dreams of flying over great ragged brown hedges, with the wind whistling past her ears, a fierce, implacable demon pulling her arms out of their sockets, whilst she and the runaway were pursued by frenzied shouts. During these days of seclusion, the invalid saw but little of her guests--by whom the absence of the hostess was not deplored. Now and then, Connie Rashleigh and Lola came to see her, and Hugo paid her a daily visit of a few minutes. One evening he stayed longer than usual, and strode up and down the room--a sure sign that he had something on his mind. His restlessness was accounted for by his suddenly asking her to “let him have a look at the necklace with the emeralds.”