"I only wish I _was_ at home: never, never will I come out riding again." All this time the leading horse was slowly and carefully edging himself down hill a few steps to the right, then a few to the left, just as he thought best, displacing tons of loose stone and even small rocks at every movement.

Helen, nothing daunted, was eager to follow, and although she quivered with excitement at the noise, echoed back from the opposite hills, lost no time in preparing to descend.

Her first movement sent such showers of rubble down upon F---- and his horse, that I really thought the latter would have been knocked off his legs.

"If you _could_ keep a little more to the right, so as to send the stones clear of me, I should be very grateful," shouted F----, who was actually near the bottom of the hill already, so sharp had been the angles of his horse's descent.

I felt afraid of attempting to guide Helen, lest the least check should send us both head over heels into the quagmire below, and yet it seemed dreadful to cause the death of one's husband by rolling down cart loads of stones upon him.