“Ay, and a bold one,” was on Malcolm’s lips for reply, but he bethought himself in time.
“I am sorry what I am compelled to do should annoy your ladyship,” he said.
What with indignation and breathlessness—she had run so fast— Clementina had exhausted herself in that one exclamation, and stood panting and staring. The black bulk of Kelpie lay outstretched on the yellow sand, giving now and then a sprawling kick or a wamble like a lumpy snake, and her soul commiserated each movement as if it had been the last throe of dissolution, while the grey fire of the mare’s one-visible fierce eye, turned up from the shadow of Malcolm’s superimposed bulk, seemed to her tender heart a mute appeal for woman’s help.
As Malcolm spoke, he cautiously shifted his position, and, half-rising, knelt with one knee where he had sat before, looking observant at Lady Clementina. The champion of oppressed animality soon recovered speech.
“Get off the poor creature’s head instantly,” she said, with dignified command. “I will permit no such usage of living thing on my ground.”
“I am very sorry to seem rude, my lady,” answered Malcolm, “but to obey you would perhaps be to ruin my mistress’s property. If the mare were to break away, she would dash herself to pieces in the wood.”
“You have goaded her to madness.”
“I’m the more bound to take care of her then,” said Malcolm. “But indeed it is only temper—such temper, however, that I almost believe she is at times possessed of a demon.”
“The demon is in yourself. There is nothing in her but what your cruelty has put there. Let her up, I command you.”
“I dare not, my lady. If she were to get loose she would tear your ladyship to pieces.”