“Faix it is so, me lady.”
“And where is he going?”
“Only to Rathcourt, and ’tis his last journey.”
She stared interrogatively.
“The Kennels, you know. Mr. Broughal has sold him for twenty-five shillings, and glad to be shut of him too! He’s been dead lame the whole summer, and having all the bread rounds hours behind-hand, and giving great complaints, and torment; so here he goes!” and he gave the rope reins a slap.
“No, no, just wait,” she said, opening the gate and coming into the road. She laid her hands upon the animal’s neck. He turned; evidently he was once accustomed to being caressed by a lady. His large intelligent eyes spoke volumes of suffering and misery.
“Do you think Mr. Broughal would let me have him for thirty shillings?” she asked.
“Sure, and why not? Isn’t five shillings five shillings?” was the confident reply.
“Then get off, and lead him in, if you please.”
“What’s all this, Helena?” asked her brother, who now appeared with the dogs at his heels.