This had been their habit for good many years. The two men
usually liked to talk over the meeting as they returned home together. It
was a beautiful morning for a drive, and when Rowly came flying up the
avenue in his T-cart with three magnificent bays, Stephen ran out on the
top of the steps to see him draw up. Rowly was a fine whip, and his
horses felt it. Squire Norman was ready, and, after a kiss from Stephen,
climbed into the high cart. The men raised their hats and waved good-
bye. A word from Rowly; with a bound the horses were off. Stephen stood
looking at them delighted; all was so sunny, so bright, so happy. The
world was so full of life and happiness to-day that it seemed as if it
would never end; that nothing except good could befall. Harold, later on that morning, was to go into Norcester also; so Stephen
with a lonely day before her set herself to take up loose-ends of all
sorts of little personal matters. They would all meet at dinner as Rowly
was to stop the night at Normanstand. Harold left the club in good time to ride home to dinner. As he passed
the County Hotel he stopped to ask if Squire Norman had left; and was
told that he had started only a short time before with Squire Rowly in
his T-cart. He rode on fast, thinking that perhaps he might overtake
them and ride on with them. But the bays knew their work, and did it. They kept their start; it was only at the top of the North hill, five
miles out of Norcester, that he saw them in the distance, flying along
the level road. He knew he would not now overtake them, and so rode on
somewhat more leisurely. The Norcester highroad, when it has passed the village of Brackling,
turns away to the right behind the great clump of oaks. From this the
road twists to the left again, making a double curve, and then runs to
Norling Parva in a clear stretch of some miles before reaching the sharp
turn down the hill which is marked 'Dangerous to Cyclists.' From the
latter village branches the by-road over the hill which is the short cut
to Normanstand. When Harold turned the corner under the shadow of the oaks he saw a
belated road-mender, surrounded by some gaping peasants, pointing
excitedly in the distance. The man, who of course knew him, called to
him to stop. 'What is it?' he asked, reining up. 'It be Squire Rowly's bays which have run away with him. Three on 'em,
all in a row and comin' like the wind. Squire he had his reins all
right, but they 'osses didn't seem to mind 'un. They was fair mad and
bolted. The leader he had got frightened at the heap o' stones theer,
an' the others took scare from him.' Without a word Harold shook his reins and touched the horse with his
whip. The animal seemed to understand and sprang forward, covering the
ground at a terrific pace. Harold was not given to alarms, but here
might be serious danger. Three spirited horses in a light cart made for
pace, all bolting in fright, might end any moment in calamity. Never in
his life did he ride faster than on the road to Norling Parva. Far ahead
of him he could see at the turn, now and again, a figure running. Something had happened. His heart grew cold: he knew as well as though
he had seen it, the high cart swaying on one wheel round the corner as
the maddened horses tore on their way; the one jerk too much, and the
momentary reaction in the crash! . . . With beating heart and eyes aflame in his white face he dashed on. It was all too true. By the side of the roadway on the inner curve lay
the cart on its side with broken shafts. The horses were prancing and
stamping about along the roadway not recovered from their fright. Each
was held by several men. And on the grass two figures were still lying where they had been thrown
out. Rowly, who had of course been on the off-side, had been thrown
furthest. His head had struck the milestone that stood back on the waste
ground before the ditch. There was no need for any one to tell that his
neck had been broken. The way his head lay on one side, and the twisted,
inert limbs, all told their story plainly enough. Squire Norman lay on his back stretched out. Some one had raised him to
a sitting posture and then lowered him again, straightening his limbs. He
did not therefore look so dreadful as Rowly, but there were signs of
coming death in the stertorous breathing, the ooze of blood from nostrils
and ears as well as mouth. Harold knelt down by him at once and examined
him. Those who were round all knew him and stood back. He felt the ribs
and limbs; so far as he could ascertain by touch no bone was broken. Just then the local doctor, for whom some one had run, arrived in his
gig. He, too, knelt beside the injured man, a quick glance having
satisfied him that there was only one patient requiring his care. Harold
stood up and waited. The doctor looked up, shaking his head. Harold
could hardly suppress the groan which was rising in his throat. He
asked:

'Is it immediate? Should his daughter be brought here?' 'How long would it take her to arrive?' 'Perhaps half an hour; she would not lose an instant.' 'Then you had better send for her.' 'I shall go at once!' answered Harold, turning to jump on his horse,
which was held on the road. 'No, no!' said the doctor, 'send some one else. You had better stay here
yourself. He may become conscious just before the end; and he may want
to say something!' It seemed to Harold that a great bell was sounding in
his ears.--'Before the end! Good God! Poor Stephen!' . . . But this was
no time for sorrow, or for thinking of it. That would come later. All
that was possible must be done; and to do it required a cool head. He
called to one of the lads he knew could ride and said to him:

'Get on my horse and ride as fast as you can to Normanstand. Send at
once to Miss Norman and tell her that she is wanted instantly. Tell her
that there has been an accident; that her father is alive, but that she
must come at once without a moment's delay. She had better ride my horse
back as it will save time. She will understand from that the importance
of time. Quick!' The lad sprang to the saddle, and was off in a flash. Whilst Harold was
speaking, the doctor had told the men, who, accustomed to hunting
accidents, had taken a gate from its hinges and held it in readiness, to
bring it closer. Then under his direction the Squire was placed on the
gate. The nearest house was only about a hundred yards away; and thither
they bore him. He was lifted on a bed, and then the doctor made fuller
examination. When he stood up he looked very grave and said to Harold:

'I greatly fear she cannot arrive in time. That bleeding from the ears
means rupture of the brain. It is relieving the pressure, however, and
he may recover consciousness before he dies. You had better be close to
him. There is at present nothing that can be done. If he becomes
conscious at all it will be suddenly. He will relapse and probably die
as quickly.'