pawed the air wildly, and being brought down again by a sharp cut over
the ears, flung out his heels in sheer malice and bolted down the hill,
straight for that pandemonium of men and hounds. If the pleasures of the
hunt failed to attract his mistress, it was otherwise with him, and he
meant to have his fling in spite of her.

For the first few seconds of that mad flight Anne scarcely attempted to
check his progress. She was taken by surprise and was forced to give all
her attention to keeping in the saddle.

The pace was terrific. The scampering hoofs scarcely seemed to touch the
ground at all. Like shadows they fled through the rising mist. It struck
chill upon her face as they swooped downwards. She seemed to be plunging
into an icy, bottomless abyss.

And then like a dagger, stabbing through every nerve, came fear, a
horror unspeakable of the depth she could not see, into which she was
being so furiously hurled. She was clinging to the saddle, but she
made a desperate effort to drag the animal round. It was quite
fruitless. No woman's strength could have availed to check that
headlong gallop. He swerved a little, a very little, in answer, that
was all, and galloped madly on.

And then--all in a moment it came, a moment of culminating horror more
awful than anything she had ever before experienced--the ground fell
suddenly away from the racing feet. A confusion of many lights danced
before her eyes--a buzzing uproar filled her brain--she shot forward
into space....