“He is a whole-hearted, queer old soul, sure enough,” was the reply; “but certainly you are not his child; I never knew that he was married.”
“His child!” I cried, breathless with the thought. “I—I don’t know—how should I? I his child—his own? What put the idea into any one’s head? It sounds so strange. Do you mean that Mr. Turner is my father that people ask after so often?”
“Nay, I mean nothing—only is Mr. Turner, as you call him, married?”
“No, I think not. Maria, I am sure, isn’t married; but I never asked, never thought of it.”
He was about to answer, but that instant a low, timid neigh from behind the spur of a rock close by, made me start.
“That is Jupiter—that is Jupiter!” I exclaimed, and with this joyful shout away I bounded, gathering up my torn skirt in both arms, and full of spirit once more.
Sure enough there stood my pony, sheltered and hidden by the rock, to which the pretty creature had fled from the crowd of huntsmen. The sound of my voice called forth his neigh, and never did a dumb creature express more satisfaction at the presence of its mistress.
“There you see—you see it was not Jupiter’s fault, the dear, dear old rogue. He was so wise to creep away and wait till those hateful people were all gone!” I exclaimed triumphantly, laying my hot cheek against the glossy neck of my horse.
“And did all those people really seem so hateful?” replied the youth, caressing Jupiter.
“All! I don’t know. That lady was the only one I saw distinctly. The rest floated around me, surging up and down like a red cloud. But I shall never forget her!”