On he shot into the thicket.
"He will have enough sense to stop when he finds out that he is alone," was
her despairing thought.
But he continued to forge ahead like a race horse,--in uneven leaps as though
some sound from behind were urging him on. Suddenly, through the roaring of
her ears, it broke upon her that he was not alone, that at least one horse was
following. Its approaching tread was like thunder in the stillness. If it
could but get ahead of her, all would be well. Her heart beat hopefully as the
jar sounded nearer and nearer. When the snorting nostrils seemed at the Black
One's very flank, at the risk of her neck she turned her head.
Looking, she understood why a steed had been given her which should carry her
out of Elfgiva's reach, for the horseman who was even now stretching his
gauntleted hand toward her rein was the King himself. No one followed, and the
forest around them was silent as a vault. At last, he was free to speak his
mind.
Under the drag of his hand, the horse came slowly to a halt and stood panting
and trembling in the middle of a little dell. For a while, she could do no
more than cling to the saddle-bow, sick with dizziness.
Still holding her rein, her royal guardian sat regarding her critically. "Now
it seems to me that your boasting is less than before," he said. "And you were
mistaken in supposing that I would have given this animal to you if I had not
known you could ride him.
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