She heard the clattering of men’s footsteps on the hard road.
They were giving chase to the flying horse, which passed on snorting savagely, foaming at the mouth, and riderless.
“Joe—Joe!” shrieked Patty to one of her father’s labourers, “for mercy’s sake tell me what’s the matter. Speak, I pray you.”
The man looked in at the window, and said in a kind tone of voice—
“We none on us know at present, but don’t ’e be frightened, missus. Summut’s amiss, but maybe it aint o’ much consequence. Cheer up, and wait till I coom back. There aint no call for no alarm—leastways not as we knows on at present.”
Patty sank into a chair, and felt as if about to swoon.
The man passed on.
In a few minutes after this two of her father’s servants passed the window, leading a riderless horse.
They carried lanterns in their hands, and were looking intently and examining the animal. Patty said nothing, but, pale and speechless, awaited the issue.
The horse was taken to the yard, which was at the side of the farmhouse. It was the identical yard from which the boy, Alf Purvis, had been ignominiously driven with the hare round his neck some year or two before.