She turned to Selim, who was standing quietly beside his master.

“I may at least thank you, you beauty,” she said, and kissed his soft black muzzle.

De Lacy smiled.  “Never before have I wished I were a horse,” he said.

A bit of color flashed into her cheeks and she busied herself in twisting into place a roll of ruddy hair that had been shaken from its fastenings.  It took an unusual time, it seemed, and just as she finished Sir James Dacre rode up.

“I claim a share in the rescue,” he said gayly, and gave the Countess 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.

The Countess still hesitated—­and Darby stepped confidently forward and dropped his hand to put her up.

“Come, my lady,” he said.

De Lacy made no move, nor spoke, but his eyes never left the Countess’s face.  And she, if she felt any irritation at the awkward situation so foolishly forced by Darby, concealed it completely and punished him with a smiling face.

“You may put me on Selim, Lord Darby,” she said.  “He has carried me part way home, and since he wishes it he shall carry me all the way.”

Darby’s dark face flushed and for a moment he drew back his hand in refusal—­then quickly offered it again.  But the delay lost him the favor; for De Lacy, seeing the opportunity, instantly presented his own palm, and the Countess accepted it, and he swung her to his saddle.

Then she looked at Darby.  “If you are very good,” she said, with a little laugh, “you may put me down at the castle.”

And Darby laughed, too.  “But you must give me time,” he replied.  “I am not so nimble as Selim’s master.”

And so they made their way back to Pontefract, De Lacy walking beside the Countess, and Lord Darby and Sir James Dacre following on horseback just behind.  Wilda had evidently got down the hill unhurt; in the soft earth at its foot the deep marks of her running hoofs were very evident; and a little way from the castle they came upon her, calmly browsing beside the track.  She had lost her bridle and her fright was quite gone—­for she answered to the Countess’s call, and permitted De Lacy to put a strap around her neck and make her captive.