But the latter had gained some distance now. The horses, panic-stricken and well-nigh unmanageable, were tearing up the hill on the other side of the drift, and it was all their driver could do in the darkness to keep them in the track. The buggy swayed fearfully, and twice catching a wheel in an ant-heap was within an ace of turning over. Suddenly one of the horses stumbled heavily, then fell. All his driver's efforts to raise him were useless. The poor beast had been struck by a bullet, and lay, feebly struggling, the blood pouring from a jagged wound in his flank. The black bolt of despair shot through Eustace's heart. There was a feeble chance of escape for Eanswyth, but a very feeble one. Of himself he did not think. Quickly he set to work to cut loose the other horse. But the traditional sagacity of that quadruped, as is almost invariably the case, failed in an emergency. He plunged and kicked in such wise as to hinder seriously, if not defeat, every effort to disengage him from the harness. Eustace, his listening powers at their utmost tension, caught the light pit-pat of the pursuers' footsteps racing up the hill in the darkness. They would be upon him before-- Ha! The horse was loose. "Quick, Eanswyth. Mount! It is your only chance!" he said, shortening the reins into a bridle and holding them for her. "I will not." "Quick, quick! Every moment lost is a life!" "I will not. We will die together. I will not live without you," and the heroic flash in the grand eyes was visible in the starlight. The stealthy footsteps were now plainly audible. They could not have been two hundred yards distant. Suddenly the horse, catching a renewed access of panic, plucked the reins from Eustace's hand, and careered wildly away into the _veldt_. The last chance of escape was cut off. They must die together now. Facing round, crouching low behind the broken-down vehicle, they listened for the approach of the pursuers. All the bitterness of the moment was upon those two--upon him especially--crouching there in the dark and lonely _veldt_. Their reunion was only to be a reunion in death. The last dread act was drawing on. The stealthy steps of the approaching foe were now more distinctly audible. With a deadly and vengeful fire at his heart, Eustace prepared to sell their lives as dearly as ever life was sold. "We need not fear, my sweet one," whispered the heroine at his side. "We are dying together." Nearer--nearer, came those cat-like footfalls. Then they ceased. The pulses of the two anxious listeners beat with an intense and surging throb of expectation in the dead silence. But instead of those stealthy feet, swift to shed blood, there was borne upon the night the sound of horses' hoofs. Then a crash of fire-arms, and a ringing cheer. No savage war-cry that, but a genuine British shout.