try to act a mother’s part to dear Isabel. I don’t know, though, what I shall do when Neil and Alison marry those two. They don’t like me a bit, and, between ourselves, I really don’t like them.”
“Morning, daddy,” came in a loud, breathless voice from the outside. “What do you think of that?”
“Morning,” came in another voice; and the word was repeated again in the deep tones of a man, and supplemented by the snortings of horses.
“Morning, my dears. Capital! But very imprudent. I will not have you trying to break that pretty little neck – nor you neither, Dana. Burwood, you should not have encouraged them.”
“I? That’s good, Mr Elthorne. They both took the bit in their teeth, and all I could do was to follow.”
“Oh, stuff and nonsense!” cried the second voice. “What a fuss about a canter. Come, you folks, are you ready?”
“How’s Aunt Anne?”
“Good gracious me! Is the girl mad?” cried that lady, as there was the crunching of gravel, the window was darkened, a horse’s hoofs sounded loudly on the step, and the head and neck of a beautiful animal were thrust right into the room, with the bright, merry face of a girl close behind, as its owner stooped to avoid the top of the window and peered in.
“Hallo! There you are. Good-morning! We’ve had such a gallop. Where’s Isabel? Hallo, sailor, how are you?”
“My dear child, don’t – pray don’t,” cried Aunt Anne. “You’ll be having some accident. Suppose that horse put his foot through the glass.”
“Good job for the glazier. Here Tom Beck, give Biddy some lumps of sugar.”
“Bless the child!” cried Aunt Anne. “Oh, here’s Isabel. Mr Beck, take the sugar basin, and back that dreadful animal out.”
The young sailor obeyed her to the letter, as Isabel entered to look on laughingly, while the other touched the skittish mare upon which she was seated, so that it might join in crunching up the sweet pieces of sugar with which they were fed in turn.
“Morning, parson,” said the new arrival with the deep-toned voice, to Tom Beck, as the young lieutenant went on sugaring the two steeds. “Thought you were off to sea again.”
“Did you?” said Beck, meeting his eyes with a lump of sugar in his hand, and with rather a stern, fixed look, from which the new arrival turned with a half laugh.
“Yes; you sailors are here to-day and gone to-morrow.”
“Exactly,” said Beck; “but this is to-day and not to-morrow.”
“Mr Beck – take care!”
It was Isabel who cried out in alarm, but her warning was too late, for the handsome mare which Dana Lydon rode had stretched out its neck and taken the lump of sugar the young lieutenant was holding; and as he turned sharply, it was at the sudden grip, for the greater part of his hand was held between the horse’s teeth.
“Great Heavens!” cried Mr Elthorne.
“Wait a moment, I’ll make her leave go,” cried Dana, raising her whip to strike the animal between the ears.
“Stop!” cried Beck sharply, as he caught the mare’s bit with his left hand, standing firmly the while, but with his face drawn with pain. “If you do that she’ll crush the bones.”
Isabel uttered a faint sob, and turned white, while Sir Cheltnam sprang from his horse and stepped close to her.
“Don’t be frightened,” he whispered, giving additional pain now to the young sailor in the shape of that which was mental.
Isabel paid no heed to him or his words, but stood gazing wildly at the brave young fellow whose hand was gripped as if in a vice by the powerful jaws, but who, beyond knitting his brows and turning pale, made no sign.
“Here, Alison,” cried Mr Elthorne, “take the other side of the mare’s muzzle. She’ll crush his hand.”
“No, no,” said the young man, quickly. “She’ll let go soon. Be quiet, all of you, or you’ll startle her.”
The young man’s words were full of the authoritative tone of one accustomed to command in emergencies; but his voice shook a little at the last, for he was oppressed by a deadly feeling of sickness which he fought hard to resist, while the group closed round him, and there was a low buzz of excitement through which came the trampling of other horses, as the grooms led them round from the stable yard.
Tom Beck felt that he could hold out no longer. He had tried and manfully to combat the physical pain at a time when the mental was agonising, for he had seen the young baronet approach Isabel and whisper to her, and he had felt that any increase of the terrible grip would mean a horrible mutilation, and the utter blasting of his career and his hopes. Despair was combining with the sensation of faintness; and with the scene around him growing dim and the excited voices beginning to sound muffled and strange, nature was rapidly conquering the education of a brave man who had been schooled to face danger unmoved; he turned his eyes wildly to where Isabel stood.
But that look moved her to spring forward, lay her hand on the mare’s muzzle, and falter out vainly a few caressing words. Worse than vainly, for the mare lowered her head, and increased the sufferer’s agony.
“Don’t,” he whispered hoarsely.
“Dana, I shall have to shoot her,” cried Mr Elthorne hoarsely.
Alison pressed forward, and passed his arm about his friend’s waist, for he saw that he was ready to fall, and the morning’s comedy was on the point of becoming tragic, when a loud neigh came from one of the horses being led around to the front, and Beck’s hand fell from the mare’s jaws, for she threw up her head and uttered a whinnying answer to the challenge of Mr Elthorne’s new hunter, The Don.
“Ah!”
It was more a groan than a sigh of relief from all around, while, tightening her rein, Dana cut the mare across the ears with all her might; and as the graceful animal bounded forward, she kept on lashing it furiously, making it curvet and plunge and snort, as it excited the other horses near.
“Don’t! don’t! Dana,” cried her sister. “She’ll throw you.”
“A vicious beast! – a vicious beast!” panted the girl, as she still plied her whip till Mr Elthorne caught her arm.
Beck stood, half supported by Alison, watching Isabel being assisted into the breakfast-room by her aunt and Sir Cheltnam, till she disappeared, when he reeled slightly, but made an effort to recover himself.
“Much hurt, old man?”
“No,” he said hoarsely; “a nasty grip. Tell that girl not to beat the mare. It was not wise.”
“Now, how is he?” cried Mr Elthorne, coming back. “Help him in. Send one of the grooms for the doctor.”
“No, no, sir,” said Beck, with a faint laugh, as he held up the hand deeply indented by the mare’s teeth. “It’s nothing to mind. Shan’t be a one-armed Greenwich pensioner this time.”
“Oh, my dear boy! my dear boy!” cried an excited voice, and Aunt Anne came rushing out of
