Chapter 5 - Page 2

scarcely replied to her father in the words we have mentioned,
and he was just about to rebuke her supposed timidity, when a bull,
stimulated either by the scarlet colour of Miss Ashton's mantle, or by
one of those fits of capricious ferocity to which their dispositions are
liable, detached himself suddenly from the group which was feeding at
the upper extremity of a grassy glade, that seemed to lose itself among
the crossing and entangled boughs. The animal approached the intruders
on his pasture ground, at first slowly, pawing the ground with his hoof,
bellowing from time to time, and tearing up the sand with his horns, as
if to lash himself up to rage and violence.

The Lord Keeper, who observed the animal's demeanour, was aware that he
was about to become mischievous, and, drawing his daughter's arm under
his own, began to walk fast along the avenue, in hopes to get out of his
sight and his reach. This was the most injudicious course he could have
adopted, for, encouraged by the appearance of flight, the bull began
to pursue them at full speed. Assailed by a danger so imminent, firmer
courage than that of the Lord Keeper might have given way. But paternal
tenderness, "love strong as death," sustained him. He continued to
support and drag onward his daughter, until her fears altogether
depriving her of the power of flight, she sunk down by his side; and
when he could no longer assist her to escape, he turned round and placed
himself betwixt her and the raging animal, which, advancing in full
career, its brutal fury enhanced by the rapidity of the pursuit, was now
within a few yards of them. The Lord Keeper had no weapons; his age
and gravity dispensed even with the usual appendage of a walking
sword--could such appendage have availed him anything.

It seemed inevitable that the father or daughter, or both, should
have fallen victims to the impending danger, when a shot from the
neighbouring thicket arrested the progress of the animal. He was so
truly struck between the junction of the spine with the skull, that the
wound, which in any other part of his body might scarce have impeded his
career, proved instantly fatal. Stumbling forward with a hideous bellow,
the progressive force of his previous motion, rather than any operation
of his limbs, carried him up to within three yards of the astonished
Lord Keeper, where he rolled on the ground, his limbs darkened with the
black death-sweat, and quivering with the last convulsions of muscular
motion.

Lucy lay senseless on the ground, insensible of the wonderful
deliverance which she had experience. Her father was almost equally
stupified, so rapid and unexpected had been the transition from the
horrid death which seemed inevitable to perfect