Never had the dull round of the lives of the gentle brethren of
Waverley been broken by so fiery a scene. Springing to right and
swooping to left, now with its tangled wicked head betwixt its
forefeet, and now pawing eight feet high in the air, with scarlet,
furious nostrils and maddened eyes, the yellow horse was a thing
of terror and of beauty. But the lithe figure on his back,
bending like a reed in the wind to every movement, firm below,
pliant above, with calm inexorable face, and eyes which danced and
gleamed with the joy of contest, still held its masterful place
for all that the fiery heart and the iron muscles of the great
beast could do.

Once a long drone of dismay rose from the monks, as rearing higher
and higher yet a last mad effort sent the creature toppling over
backward upon its rider. But, swift and cool, he had writhed from
under it ere it fell, spurned it with his foot as it rolled upon
the earth, and then seizing its mane as it rose swung himself
lightly on to its back once more. Even the grim sacrist could not
but join the cheer, as Pommers, amazed to find the rider still
upon his back, plunged and curveted down the field.

But the wild horse only swelled into a greater fury. In the
sullen gloom of its untamed heart there rose the furious resolve
to dash the life from this clinging rider, even if it meant
destruction to beast and man. With red, blazing eyes it looked
round for death. On three sides the five-virgate field was
bounded by a high wall, broken only at one spot by a heavy
four-foot wooden gate. But on the fourth side was a low gray
building, one of the granges of the Abbey, presenting a long flank
unbroken by door or window. The horse stretched itself into a