had been killed also.

And now I had Elfrida to tend, for she had fainted. What she had
seen I could not tell, but I hoped that at least she knew nought
before Erpwald went. It was as if she had lost consciousness when
he reached her, for I saw the hand on the rein loosen helplessly. I
carried her back from the cliff and tried to bring her to herself,
vainly, though indeed I almost wished that she might remain as she
was until we were back in Glastonbury.

Then I wound my horn again and again to bring some to my help, and
I tried not to think of that which surely lay crushed on the road
below. There could be no hope for either man or horse.

Then came the sound of swift hoofs, and there was the ealdorman and
one or two others, coming in all haste to know what the urgent call
betokened, but by the time that he had dismounted and asked if
there was any hurt to his daughter I could only gasp and point
downward. My mouth was dry and parched, and I did not know how to
put into words the thing that had happened; but he saw that
Elfrida's horse was not there, and that Erpwald's ran loose with
mine, and he guessed.

"Over the cliff?" he said, whispering, and I nodded.

"Go and look," he gasped, and he knelt down and took Elfrida from
me.

The two who were with him were trying to catch the loose horses,
and we were alone for the moment. So I crept to the edge and looked