'Don't say that,' entreats Halkett gently; 'and don't vex yourself. I would rather the mare was dead, than that you tormented yourself about her. Besides'--stooping to examine the injury--'from what I can see it is only skin-deep, and won't matter in a day or two; eh, Connor?'
'Yessir; only a scratch, sir. Right as ever in a week, sir.'
These words carry balm to Miss Mordaunt's breast; and presently the bandages being finally adjusted, and the Baby consoled by an additional feed, they leave the stables; and Blake considerately diverging to the right, Miss Mordaunt and Halkett go leisurely towards the house.
As they reach the stone steps leading to the Hall door, Cissy pauses. 'You are _sure_ you forgive me?' she asks sweetly.
'How can you speak to me like that!' says Halkett, almost angry. 'Did you think I should cut up rough with _you_? What an ill-tempered brute you must consider me; you ought to know me better by this time.'
'I have not known you for so very long,' says Cissy smiling; then impulsively, while her colour once more deepens: 'Why is that horse such a favourite with you?--beyond all others, I mean. Was it a present?'
'No. From a lady,' says Halkett shortly, and turns away his head.
On the instant, the words the major had uttered in the stables come back to Miss Mordaunt's mind, and without further comment she sweeps past Halkett into the house, and he sees her no more until dinner-time.
When half-past seven chimes out, and the solemn retainer of the House of Mordaunt announces dinner as being served, both Major Blake and Captain Halkett make a hard fight of it to take Miss Cissy down; but Fate, in the person of Sir Thomas Lobin, interferes, and balks them of their prey. Halkett, however, may be said to have the best of it, as he succeeds in seating himself directly opposite his Irish divinity, and so can watch the changes of her beloved face, and perhaps edge in a word or two, addressed particularly to her, during the repast. All this can be the more readily accomplished, as he has been told off to a young lady who, if not actually insane, is at all events three parts silly, and so does not feel it incumbent upon him to supply her with the orthodox amount of small-talk.