“Here, take a pull at this; you 'll be all right presently,” said the man, as he presented a little leather flask to the youth's lips. But Lionel repulsed the offer rudely, and turned his head away. “The more fool you!” said he, coarsely; “your grandfather mixed many a worse-flavored one, and charged more for it;” and, so saying, he emptied the measure at a draught.
Lionel pondered on the words for some seconds, and suddenly the thought occurred to him that the stranger had mistaken him for another. “Ah! I see it all now!” thought he, and he turned his head to undeceive him; when, what was his surprise, as he looked up, to see that the fellow was gone. Mounted on his own horse, he was leading Lionel's by the bridle, and, at a smart trot, moving down the glen.
The young man sprang to his feet and shouted aloud; he even tried to follow him; but both efforts were fruitless. At the turn of the road the man halted, and, looking round, waved his hat as in sign of adieu; then, moving forward, disappeared, while Lionel, his passion giving way to his sense of the absurdity of the whole adventure, burst into a fit of hearty laughter.
“I 'll be laughed at to the day of my death about this,” thought he, as he turned his steps to seek the path homeward on foot.
It was late in the evening when Lionel reached the abbey. The guests had for the most part left the dinner-room, and were dropping by twos and threes into the drawing-room, when he made his appearance in the midst of them, splashed and travel-stained from head to foot.
A burst of merry laughter rang out as they beheld his torn habiliments and mud-colored dress, in which none joined more heartily than the Knight himself, as he called aloud, “Well, Lionel, did you kill him, boy, or run him to earth below Nephin?”
“By Jove, sir! if old Carney is safe, I think nobody has been killed to-day.”
“Well, Bob is all right; he came back three hours ago. He has lamed Scaltheen; but she 'll get over it.”
“But your own adventures,” interposed Lord Netherby; “for so they ought to be, judging from the state of your toilet. Let us hear them.”
“Yes, by all means,” added Beauclerk; “the huntsman says that the last he saw of you was riding by the side of some one in green, with three of the pack in front, the rest tailed off, and himself in a bog-hole.”