Then I saw them plunge madly down the hill toward the gate.

I fancied I could hear the girl whispering in frenzied hoarseness,--"On, Dolcy, on," and I thought I could catch the panting of the mare.

At the foot of the hill, less than one hundred yards from the gate, poor Dolcy, unable to take another step, dropped to the ground.

Dolcy had gone on to her death.

She had filled her little niche in the universe and had died at her post Dorothy plunged forward over the mare's head, and a cry of alarm came from my lips despite me.