Larkspur, had hurried those of Victor
Carrington towards fulfilment with incredible speed. He had ridden at a
speed, and for some time in a direction which would, he calculated,
bring him within sight of the hunt, and had just crossed a bridge which
traversed a narrow but deep and rapid river, about three miles distant
from the place where he Andrew Larkspur had taken sad counsel with
himself, when he heard the sound of a horse's approach, at a
thundering, apparently wholly ungoverned pace. A wild gleam of
triumphant expectation, of deadly murderous hope, lit up his pale
features, as he turned his horse, rendered restive by the noise of the
distant galloping, into a field, close by the road, dismounted, and
tied him firmly to a tree. The hedge, though bare of leaves, was thick
and high, and in the angle which it formed with the tree, the animal
was completely hidden.
In a moment after Victor Carrington had done this, and while he
crouched down and looked through the hedge, Lionel Dale appeared in
sight, borne madly along by his unmanageable horse, as he dashed
heedlessly down the road, his rider holding the bridle indeed, but
breathless, powerless, his head uncovered, and one of his stirrup-
leathers broken. Victor Carrington's heart throbbed violently, and a
film came over his eyes. Only for a moment, however; in the next his
sight cleared, and he saw the furious animal, frightened by a sudden
plunge made by the horse tied to the tree, swerve suddenly from the
road, and dash at the swollen, tumbling river.
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