Then I saw the woman urging
her horse to follow. I knew the danger she was in, and, though tempted to
be silent, called to her with a loud warning.
"Mind what you are doing, lady Cairnedge!" I cried. "The ground here will
not carry the weight of a horse like yours."
But as I spoke he gave in, and sprang across the ditch at the way-side.
There, however, he stood.
"You think to escape me," she answered, in a low, yet clear voice, with a
cat-like growl in it.
"You make a mistake!"
"Your ladyship will make a worse mistake if you follow me here," I
replied.
Her only rejoinder was a cut with her whip to her horse, which had stood
motionless since taking his unwilling jump. I spoke to Zoe; she bounded
off like a fawn. I pulled her up, and looked back.
Lady Cairnedge continued urging her horse. I heard and saw her whipping
him furiously. She had lost her temper.
I warned her once more, but she persisted.
"Then you must take the consequences!" I said; and Zoe and I made for the
road, but at a point nearer home.
Had she not been in a passion, she would have seen that her better way
was to return to the road, and intercept us; but her anger blinded her
both to that and to the danger of the spot she was in.
We had not gone far when we heard behind us the soft plunging and sucking
of the big hoofs through the boggy ground. I looked over my shoulder.
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