A horseman was presently seen galloping towards the spot where the
Duke was posted, and his movements were watched with interest by
Blackett and others of the cavalry waiting their orders to cross.

"Seems to me he is wounded," the lieutenant observed to a man near
him; to which the other replied, "Yes, he does seem wobbly, doesn't
he?"

Hardly had the words been spoken when the advancing rider suddenly
fell from his horse, which kept on, however, dragging his master along
by the stirrup. Without a second's delay, Blackett threw his own beast
across the track of the runaway steed, caught his head, and pulled him
up. Then in a moment the youngster was down on the ground to the
assistance of the poor fellow who had fallen.

"To the Duke!" the man cried, glancing at a note he held tightly
clutched in his hand. "Quick!" he moaned; "I'm shot through the back,
and done for!"

"Poor fellow!" murmured the lieutenant, and he seized the letter,
sprang with a bound into his saddle, and was off like the wind, before
his companions had quite realized what it all meant. Thus for the
second time within a few days Matthew Blackett presented himself
before his commander in the part of unofficial aide-de-camp. The Duke
nodded as he recognized the lad, and, pencilling a few words of reply,
said, "To Lord Cutts; then back to your post." And as Blackett rode
off like the wind in a bee-line for Cutts's division, Marlborough
murmured, "A fearless fox-hunter, I'll be bound." The order, it was
afterwards found, was for Cutts to make no more attempts on Blenheim,