The Master of the Ceremonies

“Go on, you scoundrels! Gallop!” roared Rockley from the front window. “Go on, or I fire.”

The man on the wheeler half turned in his saddle and made as if to pull up, but there was the flash of a pistol, the quick report, and as a bullet whistled over his head, the postboy uttered a cry of fear, and bent down till his face almost touched the horse’s mane, while his companion on the leader did the same, and they whipped and spurred their jaded horses frantically.

“Stop!” shouted Linnell again. “Stop!”

“Go on! Gallop!” roared Rockley, “or I’ll blow out your brains.”

The men crouched lower. Their horses tore on; the chaise leaped and rocked and seemed about to go over, and all was rush and excitement, noise and dust.

Linnell was well abreast of the chaise door now, and pushing on to get to the postboy who rode the leader, when the glass on his side was dashed down, and, pistol-in-hand, Rockley leaned out.

“Back!” he said hoarsely, “or I fire.”

“You scoundrel!” roared Linnell. “Cowardly dog! but you are caught.”

“Stop, or I fire,” shouted Rockley again, fuming with rage and vexation at being overtaken in the hour of his triumph.

“Fire if you dare!” cried Linnell excitedly, as he pressed on.

Crack!

There was a second flash and report, and the horse Linnell rode made a spring forward as if it had been hit.

The thought flashed across Linnell’s brain that in another few moments the brave beast he bestrode would stagger and fall beneath him, and that then the cowardly scoundrel who had fired would escape with the woman he was ready to give his life to save. A curious mist seemed to float before his eyes, the hot blood of rage to surge into his brain, lights danced before him, and for the moment he felt hardly accountable for his actions.

All he knew was that he was abreast of the wheeler, with the man whipping and spurring with all his might; that the horses were snorting and tearing along in a wild race, and that Rockley was leaning out of the window yelling to the men to gallop or he would fire again.

Linnell had a misty notion Mellersh was somewhere on the other side, and that Bell was galloping behind, but he did not call to them for help. He did not even see that Mellersh was pushing forward and had reached out to catch the off-leader’s rein. All he did realise was that Claire Denville, the woman he loved, was in peril; that her whole future depended upon him; and that he must save her at any cost.

He was galloping now a little in advance of the postboy. Their knees had touched for an instant; then his leg was in front, and he was leaning forward.

“Touch that rein, and I fire,” roared Rockley.

Then there was once more a flash cutting the darkness; and as the bullet from Rockley’s pistol sped on its errand, the horse made one plunge forward, and then pitched upon its head. There was a tremendous crash of breaking glass and woodwork, and beside the road the wreck of a chaise with two horses down, and the leaders tangled in their harness and kicking furiously till they had broken free.

Volume Two – Chapter Twenty Seven.

Richard Linnell thinks he has been a Fool

For a few moments, in the suddenness of the catastrophe, every one was too much astounded to take any steps. Linnell was the first to recover himself, and, leaping from his horse, he threw the rein to Bell.

Mellersh followed his example, joining Linnell as he tried to drag open the door of the chaise, which was over upon its side with the off-wheeler kicking in the front, as it lay there upon its companion in a tangle of harness.

The framework was so wrenched that for a minute or two the door would not yield, and the utter silence within sent a chill of horror through Linnell.

“Let me come, Dick,” whispered Mellersh, the catastrophe that had so suddenly befallen them forcing him to speak in subdued tones; “let me come, Dick. I’m stronger, perhaps.”

“Pish!” was the angry reply, as Linnell strained at the door, which suddenly yielded and flew open, the glass falling out with a tinkling noise.

Just at the same time the man with the leaders trotted back with his frightened horses, the broken traces dragging behind.

“Hurt, Jack?” he cried to his fellow.

“No, not much,” was the answer, as the postboy who rode the wheeler dragged his leg from beneath his horse, and immediately stepped round and held down the head of the animal, which was kicking and struggling to rise. “Woa! will yer. Hold still, Captain!”

With the customary feeling of helplessness that comes over a horse as soon as its head is pressed down, the poor animal ceased its frantic efforts, uttered a piteous sigh that was like that of a human being, and lay perfectly still.

“Old Spavin’s a dead ’un, mate,” said the man.

“Dead?” said the second postboy.

“Dead as a nit, mate. There’ll be something to pay for to-night’s job.”

“Anyone killed?” said the second man in a whisper.

“I d’know, and I don’t care,” grumbled the man; “my leg’s bruzz horrid. Shutin’ like that! It’s as bad as highwaymen. Here, come and help cut some of this harness. They’ll stand now. Take out your knife, mate, and use it. They’ll have to pay. I can’t sit on this ’oss’s head all night.”

“There’s some of ’em got it,” whispered the second man in a low voice, as he dismounted and stood beside his comrade watching while Linnell lifted out the insensible figure of one of the occupants of the chaise, and bore her, tangled in a thick cloak, to the roadside, where he laid her reverently upon the turf.

“With you directly, Dick,” said Mellersh, still in the subdued voice, as he climbed into the chaise, and, exerting all his strength, raised Rockley and half thrust, half lifted him out, to drag him to the other side of the road.

“Is she much hurt, sir?” said Bell hoarsely. “I can’t leave the horses.”

“I can’t say. I don’t know yet,” panted Linnell, who was trying to lay open the folds of the cloak, which he at last succeeded in doing, so that the air blew freely on the insensible woman’s face.

Linnell’s pulse beat madly, as he half closed his eyes, and kept his head averted while he knelt there in the semi-darkness, and placed his hand upon the woman’s breast.

Then he snatched his hand away and felt giddy. But a throb of joy ran through him. Her heart was beating, and he felt sure she was only fainting from the fright.

“Why don’t you speak, sir?” cried Bell angrily. “Is she much hurt?”

“I think not, my man, only fainting,” said Linnell.

“Well?”

This to Mellersh, who came to him from where he had laid Rockley.

“I don’t know,” was the answer to the abrupt query. “Only stunned, I think. Head cut with the broken glass.”

“Not killed then?” said Linnell bitterly.

“No. Such as he generally come off easily,” replied Mellersh. “What’s to be done?”

“Better send our man back for a fresh post-chaise,” said Linnell quickly. “Will you attend to Miss Denville?” he whispered. “I think I’ll take one of the horses and ride back myself for the chaise.”

“Why not let me go, Dick?”

“No,” said Linnell in sombre tones. “I’ve stopped this wretched flight. My part’s done. Mellersh, I trust to you to place her once more under her father’s charge.”