The young girl was now within six horses' length of the bridge, when the deer, closely pursued by its original assailants, and finding itself now intercepted by Kenric's dog "Kilbuck" in front, turned once again in the only direction now left it, and wheeled across the bridge at full speed, black with sweat, flecked with white foam-flakes, its tongue hanging from its swollen jaws, its bloodshot eyeballs almost starting from its head, mad with terror and despair. All at once, the Arab horse and the gorgeous trappings of the rider glanced across its line of vision; fire seemed, to the affrighted girl, to flash from its glaring eyes, as it lowered its mighty antlers, and charged with a fierce, angry bray. Pale as death, the gallant girl yet retained her courage and her faculties; she pulled so sharply on her left rein, striking the palfrey on the shoulder with her riding-rod, that he wheeled short on his haunches, and presented his right flank to the infuriated deer, protecting his fair rider by the interposition of his body. No help was nigh, though the Norman nobles saw her peril, and spurred madly to the rescue; though Kenric started from his lair with a portentous whoop, and, poising his boar spear, rushed down, in the hope to turn the onset to himself. But it was too late; and, strong as was his hand, and his eyes steady, he dared not to hurl such a weapon as that he held, in such proximity to her he would defend. With an appalling sound, a soft, dead, crushing thrust, the terrible brow antlers were plunged into the defenseless flanks of the poor palfrey; which hung, for a second on the cruel prongs, and then, with a long, shivering scream, rolled over on its side, with collapsed limbs, and, after a few convulsive struggles, lay dead, with the lovely form of its mistress rolled under it, pale, motionless, with the long golden hair disordered in the dust, and the blue eyes closed, stunned, cold, and spiritless, at least, if not lifeless. Attracted by the gay shoulder-belt of the poor girl, again the savage beast stooped to gore; but a strong hand was on his antler, and a keen knife-point buried in his breast. Sore stricken he was, yet, not slain; and, rearing erect on his hind legs, he dealt such a storm of blows from his sharp hoofs, each cutting almost like a knife, about the head and shoulders of his dauntless antagonist, as soon hurled him, in no better condition than she, beside the lady he had risked so much to rescue. Then the dogs closed and seized him, and savage and appalling was the strife of the fierce brutes, with long-drawn, choking sighs, and throttling yells, as they raved, and tore, and stamped, and battled, over the prostrate group.