her hat, that had been lost when she changed horses. Then silently he
held out his hand to De Lacy; and afterward he petted the black and
whispered in his ear. And Selim answered by a playful nip, then rubbed
his nose against his master's palm.

At that moment Lord Darby dashed up, his horse blown, its sides bloody
with rowelling and flecked with foam.

"Thank God, Countess," he exclaimed, "you are not injured."

"Not so much as scratched, thanks to Sir Aymer de Lacy."

"Aye, Sir Aymer, it was cleverly done," said Darby; "a neater rescue
methinks I never saw."

De Lacy bowed. "Whatever credit there may be, belongs solely to
Selim," he said. "But for his speed and intelligence I had never
reached the Countess." Then he led the black forward. "And he asks
the honor of carrying her back to Pontefract."

"Not so," Darby interrupted; "that is my privilege," and he swung his
own horse around.

The Countess was struggling with her hat.

"But Wilda," she protested.

"Is at the castle now, if she made the hill in safety," said Dacre,
watching the scene with the glint of a smile.