“You’ve had no difficulty about a horse?” said Lizzie.
“Not the slightest. But I was in an awful fright this morning. I wrote to MacFarlane from London, and absolutely hadn’t a moment to go to his place yesterday or this morning. I was staying over at Glenshiels, and had not a moment to spare in catching the train. But I found a horsebox on, and a lad from MacFarlane’s just leaving as I came up.”
“Didn’t he send a boy down with the horse?” asked Lord George.
“I believe there is a boy, and the boy’ll be awfully bothered. I told him to book the horse for Kilmarnock.”
“They always do book for Kilmarnock for this meet,” said a gentleman who had made acquaintance with some of Lizzie’s party on the previous hunting-day;—“but Stewarton is ever so much nearer.”
“So somebody told me in the carriage,” continued Frank, “and I contrived to get my box off at Stewarton. The guard was uncommon civil, and so was the porter. But I hadn’t a moment to look for the boy.”
“I always make my fellow stick to his horses,” said Sir Griffin.
“But you see, Sir Griffin, I haven’t got a fellow, and I’ve only hired a horse. But I shall hire a good many horses from Mr. MacFarlane if he’ll always put me up like this.”
“I’m so glad you’re here,” said Lizzie.
“So am I. I hunt about twice in three years, and no man likes it so much. I’ve still got to find out whether the beast can jump.”
“Any mortal thing alive, sir,” said one of those horsey-looking men who are to be found in all hunting-fields, who wear old brown breeches, old black coats, old hunting-caps, who ride screws, and never get thrown out.
“You know him, do you?” said Frank.
“I know him. I didn’t know as Muster MacFarlane owned him. No more he don’t,” said the horsey man, turning aside to one of his friends. “That’s Nappie’s horse, from Jamaica Street.”
“Not possible,” said the friend.
“You’ll tell me I don’t know my own horse next.”
“I don’t believe you ever owned one,” said the friend.
Lizzie was in truth delighted to have her cousin beside her. He had, at any rate, forgiven what she had said to him at his last visit, or he would not have been there. And then, too, there was a feeling of reality in her connection with him, which was sadly wanting to her—unreal as she was herself—in her acquaintance with the other people around her. And on this occasion three or four people spoke or bowed to her, who had only stared at her before; and the huntsman took off his cap, and hoped that he would do something better for her than on the previous Monday. And the huntsman was very courteous also to Miss Roanoke, expressing the same hope, cap in hand, and smiling graciously. A huntsman at the beginning of any day or at the end of a good day is so different from a huntsman at the end of a bad day! A huntsman often has a very bad time out hunting, and it is sometimes a marvel that he does not take the advice which Job got from his wife. But now all things were smiling, and it was soon known that his lordship intended to draw Craigattan Gorse. Now in those parts there is no surer find, and no better chance of a run, than Craigattan Gorse affords.
“There is one thing I want to ask, Mr. Greystock,” said Lord George, in Lizzie’s hearing.
“You shall ask two,” said Frank.
“Who is to coach Lady Eustace today;—you or I?”
“Oh, do let me have somebody to coach me,” said Lizzie.
“For devotion in coachmanship,” said Frank—“devotion, that is, to my cousin—I defy the world. In point of skill I yield to Lord George.”
“My pretensions are precisely the same,” said Lord George. “I glow with devotion; my skill is naught.”
“I like you best, Lord George,” said Lizzie, laughing.
“That settles the question,” said Lord George.
“Altogether,” said Frank, taking off his hat.
“I mean as a coach,” said Lizzie.
“I quite understand the extent of the preference,” said Lord George. Lizzie was delighted, and thought the game was worth the candle. The noble master had told her that they were sure of a run from Craigattan, and she wasn’t in the least tired, and they were not called upon to stand still in a big wood, and it didn’t rain, and, in every respect, the day was very different from Monday. Mounted on a bright-skinned, lively steed, with her cousin on one side and Lord George de Bruce Carruthers on the other, with all the hunting world of her own county civil around her, and a fox just found in Craigattan Gorse, what could the heart of woman desire more? This was to live. There was, however, just enough of fear to make the blood run quickly to her heart. “We’ll be away at once now,” said Lord George with utmost earnestness; “follow me close, but not too close. When the men see that I am giving you a lead, they won’t come between. If you hang back, I’ll not go ahead. Just check your horse as he comes to his fences, and, if you can, see me over before you go at them. Now then, down the hill;—there’s a gate at the corner, and a bridge over the water. We couldn’t be better. By George! there they are—all together. If they don’t pull him
