The Dean.
No, remove these dreadful things, and don’t let me see you again to-night!
[Sits with the basin on his knees, and proceeds to roll the paste.
Blore.
[Removing the tray.] It’s only an ’orse—it’s only an ’orse! But after to-morrow I’ll retire from the Turf, if only to reclaim ’im.
[He goes out.
The Dean.
[Putting on his coat.] I don’t contemplate my humane task with resignation. The stable is small, and if the animal is restive we shall be cramped for room. [The rain is heard.] I shall get a chill too. [Seeing Sir Tristram’s coat and cap lying upon the settee.] I am sure Mardon will lend me this gladly. [Putting on the coat, which completely envelops him.] The animal may recognize the garment, and receive me with kindly feeling. [Putting on the sealskin cap, which almost conceals his face.] Ugh! why do I feel this dreadful sinking at the heart? [Taking the basin and turning out the lamp.] Oh! if all followers of the veterinary science are as truly wretched as I am, what a noble band they must be!
[The thunder rolls as he goes through the window curtains. Sir Tristram then enters quietly, smoking, and carrying a lighted candle.
Sir Tristram.