“Please, Mr. Grant,” said Davie, “may I have a holiday?”
Donal looked at him with a little wonder: the boy had never before made such a request! But he answered him at once.
“Yes, certainly, Davie. But I should like to know what you want it for.”
“Arkie wants very much to have a ride to-day. She says Larkie—I gave him his name, to rime with Arkie—she says Larkie will forget her, and she does not wish to go out with Forgue, so she wants me to go with her on my pony.”
“You will take good care of her, Davie?”
“I will take care of her, but you need not be anxious about us, Mr. Grant. Arkie is a splendid rider, and much pluckier than she used to be!”
Donal did, however—he could not have said why—feel a little anxiety. He repressed it as unfaithfulness, but it kept returning. He could not go with them—there was no horse for him, and to go on foot, would, he feared, spoil their ride. He was so much afraid also of presuming on lady Arctura’s regard for him, that he would have shrunk from offering had it been more feasible. He got a book, and strolled into the park, not even going to see them off: Forgue might be about the stable, and make things unpleasant!
Had Forgue been about the stable, he would, I think, have somehow managed to prevent the ride, for Larkie, though much better, was not yet cured of his lameness. Arctura did not know he had been lame, or that he had therefore been very little exercised, and was now rather wild, with a pastern-joint far from equal to his spirit. There was but a boy about the stable, who either did not understand, or was afraid to speak: she rode in a danger of which she knew nothing. The consequence was that, jumping the merest little ditch in a field outside the park, they had a fall. The horse got up and trotted limping to the stable; his mistress lay where she fell. Davie, wild with misery, galloped home. From the height of the park Donal saw him tearing along, and knew something was amiss. He ran, got over the wall, found the pony’s track, and following it, came where Arctura lay.
There was a little clear water in the ditch: he wet his handkerchief, and bathed her face. She came to herself, opened her eyes with a faint smile, and tried to raise herself, but fell back helpless, and closed her eyes again.
“I believe I am hurt!” she murmured. “I think Larkie must have fallen!”