“Perhaps he only came over to sell that horse,” said Nolan, in a half whisper.
“I wish I had bought him, with all my heart,” said Lionel.
“Do you like him so much,” said the Knight, with a meaning smile.
“I sincerely hope you do,” said Lord Netherby, “for he is yours already,—at least, if you will do me the honor to accept him; I often hoped to have mounted you one day—”
“I accept him, my Lord,” interposed Lionel, “most willingly and most gratefully. You have, literally speaking, mounted me 'one day,' and I very much doubt if I ever mount the same animal another.”
“What! is he lame?—or staked?—did he break down?—is he a devil to ride?” broke from several of the party.
“Not one of all these; but if you'll bestow five minutes' patience on me I 'll perhaps inform you of a mode of being unhorsed, novel at least to most fox-hunters.” With this, Lionel narrated the conclusion of the run, the leap of the Crumpawn river, and the singular departure of his companion at the end.
“Is this a practical joke, Knight?” said Lord Netherby.
“I think so, my Lord; one of those admirable jests which the statutes record among their own Joe Millers.”
“Then you suspect he was a robber?”