"We shall get wet jackets, my friend," he said to the colt, and he put him to a quicker pace.
Mindful of the short cut which the men had pointed out in the morning, he rode up the rather steep hill, and without any difficulty found the lane.
It was, as they had said, a narrow lane, between two high banks. There was a tree here and there, and every now and then a gate opening into the fields on either side; it was steep, too, and not very easy, and Blair was obliged to go slowly.
"Seems to me," he said to the colt, "that we could move faster going across the downs, my friend. Never mind, it's a long lane that has no turning! Jove, here it comes!" he broke off, as a flash of lightning and a clap of thunder burst forth.
"Steady, old man, you are master, you know; I'm a stranger."
The rain dropped suddenly, in a sheet, as it seemed, and Blair stopped to turn up his coat collar, and see that Madge's tools were protected by the lappets of his pockets. He had very little objection to getting wet himself, but he meant to carry home the day's spoil to her uninjured, if he could manage it.
At the moment he was fumbling with the reins, held loosely in his hand, a shout, a yell was heard behind him.
It was man's voice, presumably; but it was so unearthly, so discordant, that even Blair started. As for the colt, he gave one side-way jump, then started off helter-skelter, mad with fright.
"Steady, old man!" said Blair, tightening the rein. "It was a rum noise, but don't lose your head. Steady!" and he laughed.