There was a huge ditch and boundary bank there which Sir William had known and had avoided.

Maxwell, whose pluck had returned to him at last, took it well.

His horse was comparatively fresh and made nothing of it.

Then came poor Burgo! Oh, Burgo, hadst thou not have been a very child, thou shouldst have known that now, at this time of the day,--after all that thy gallant horse had done for thee,--it was impossible to thee or him.

But when did Burgo Fitzgerald know anything?
He rode at the bank as though it had been the first fence of the day, striking his poor beast with his spurs, as though muscle, strength, and new power could be imparted by their rowels.