"It's a pity you can't give him a new pair of forelegs," remarked Colonel Tallboys, "he is not a safe mount now, poor old boy. You should have had Naughty Mary to-day, only the farrier pricked her in shoeing, and she's a bit lame. I'll send her over to you every morning."
"Thank you a million times! I do love her, naughty as she is, but chestnuts always have hot tempers."
"They say the same of red-haired people, and it's not true," declared Colonel Tallboys—whose own youthful locks had been distinctly carroty—"Ah, here come the hounds, and now we are off. I expect he will draw towards the Mount," and as he spoke the little man wheeled about, to jog beside the Master.
A Jack was speedily on foot; a fine, stout-hearted fellow, who immediately headed for his home in Palaveram Hills, seven miles away. It was a fast thing, and after a time, between the heat, the pace, and the rough going, a number of the hunt tailed away. Miss Miller and the Nizam were, however, still well to the fore; she had an eye for country, and made for a certain stiff mud wall, which cut off a considerable amount of paddy fields. Here Mallender was her sole companion, and as they galloped side by side, he noticed her face, girlishly alight, her colour brilliant with excitement.
"I'll give you a lead," he shouted, and putting on the pace raced up to the obstacle, cleared it in beautiful style, and had galloped about twenty lengths, when it occurred to him to look back; then he pulled up sharply, and turned his horse.
The Nizam was struggling on the ground, Miss Miller was lying near him in a heap. She sat up, then scrambled to her feet as Mallender approached; she looked white, and dazed, as she tottered over to a tree, and leant heavily against it.
"I'm afraid you are hurt?" he asked as he dismounted.
"No, only a little stupid,"—she gazed at him vaguely, as if she had never seen him before, and he noticed that her temple was bruised.
Meanwhile the Nizam had found his legs, and instead of waiting on the good pleasure of his rider, shook himself violently, and wheeling about, tore away in pursuit of the vanishing hunt. As the young lady seemed about to faint, Mallender hastily produced and proffered his flask, which, however, she dismissed with an impatient hand.
"Where am I? and who are you?" she asked in a tone of bewilderment.