“And you think you can cure me?” said Zoe, satirically.
“It does seem presumptuous. But, at least, I could do you a little good if you could be got to try my humble prescription.”
“What is it?” asked Zoe, listlessly.
“It is my mare Phillis. She is the delight of every lady who mounts her. She is thorough-bred, lively, swift, gentle, docile, amiable, perfect. Ride her on these downs an hour or two very day. I'll send her over to-morrow. May I?”
“If you like. Rosa would pack up my riding-habit.”
“Rosa was a prophetess.”
Next day came Phillis, saddled and led by a groom on horseback, and Uxmoor soon followed on an old hunter. He lifted Zoe to her saddle, and away they rode, the groom following at a respectful distance.
When they got on the downs they had a delightful canter; but Zoe, in her fevered state of mind, was not content with that. She kept increasing the pace, till the old hunter could no longer live with the young filly; and she galloped away from Lord Uxmoor, and made him ridiculous in the eyes of his groom.
The truth is, she wanted to get away from him.
He drew the rein, and stood stock-still. She made a circuit of a mile, and came up to him with heightened color and flashing eyes, looking beautiful.