He was there--what needed she more to make her happy?
Her wishes extended not beyond this hour.

She was only conscious how delightful it was thus to be at her beloved's side, to breathe the same air, to see the same sun, the same flowers on which his eyes rested, and on which their glances at least might meet in kisses which were denied to their lips.
But as they thus rode along, silent and meditative, each occupied with his own thoughts, there came the assistance for which Thomas Seymour had prayed, fluttering along in the shape of a fly.
At first this fly sported and buzzed about the nose of the fiery, proud beast which the queen rode; and as no one noticed it, it was not disturbed by Hector's tossing of his mane, but crept securely and quietly to the top of the noble courser's head, pausing a little here and there, and sinking his sting into the horse's flesh, so that he reared and began loudly to neigh.
But Catharine was a bold and dexterous rider, and the proud spirit of her horse only afforded her delight, and gave the master of horse an opportunity to praise her skill and coolness.
Catharine received with a sweet smile the encomiums of her beloved.
But the fly kept creeping on, and, impelled by a diabolic delight, now penetrated the horse's ear.

The poor, tormented animal made a spring forward.

This spring, instead of freeing him from his enemy, made him penetrate the ear still farther, and sink his sting still deeper into the soft fleshy part of the same.
Stung by the maddening pain, the horse cast off all control, and, heedless of bridle and scorning the bit, dashed forward in a furious run--forward over the meadow swift as an arrow, resistless as the lightning.
"On, on, to the queen's rescue!" thundered the master of horse, and with mad haste, away flew he also over the meadow.
"To the help of the queen!" repeated Princess Elizabeth, and she likewise spurred her horse and hurried forward, accompanied by the whole suite.
But what is the speed of a horse ever so swift, but yet in his senses, compared with the raving madness of a crazy courser, that, despising all subjection, and mocking at the bridle, dashes ahead, foaming with the sense of freedom and unrestraint, uncontrollable as the surge lashed by the storm! Already far behind them lay the meadows, far behind them the avenues leading through the woods, and over brooks and ditches, over meadows and wastes, Hector was dashing on.
The queen still sat firmly in the saddle; her cheeks were colorless; her lips trembled; but her eye was still bright and clear.

She had not yet lost her presence of mind; she was perfectly conscious of her danger.
The din of screaming, screeching voices, which she heard at first, had long since died away in silence behind her.