“I certainly cannot now, so long as you keep in that position. Pray, is it in virtue of your being the higher nature that you keep my way from me?”
“No, my lady. But it is in virtue of right. If I wanted to take your ladyship’s property, your dogs would be justified in refusing me my way.—I do not think I exaggerate when I say that, if my mare here had her way, there would not be a living creature about your house by this day week.”
Lady Clementina had never yet felt upon her the power of a stronger nature than her own. She had had to yield to authority, but never to superiority. Hence her self-will had been abnormally developed. Her very compassion was self-willed. Now for the first time, she continuing altogether unaware of it, the presence of such a nature began to operate upon her. The calmness of Malcolm’s speech and the immovable decision of his behaviour told.
“But,” she said, more calmly, “your mare has had four long journeys, and she should have rested to-day.”
“Rest is just the one thing beyond her, my lady. There is a volcano of life and strength in her you have no conception of. I could not have dreamed of horse like her. She has never in her life had enough to do. I believe that is the chief trouble with her. What we all want, my lady, is a master—a real right master. I’ve got one myself; and—”
“You mean you want one yourself,” said Lady Clementina. “You’ve only got a mistress, and she spoils you.”
“That is not what I meant, my lady,” returned Malcolm. “But one thing I know, is that Kelpie would soon come to grief without me. I shall keep her here till her half-hour is out, and then let her take another gallop.”
Lady Clementina turned away. She was defeated. Malcolm knelt there on one knee, with a hand on the mare’s shoulder, so calm, so imperturbable, so ridiculously full of argument, that there was nothing more for her to do or say. Indignation, expostulation, were powerless upon him as mist upon a rock. He was the oddest, most incomprehensible of grooms.
Going back to the house, she met Florimel, and turned again with her to the scene of discipline. Ere they reached it, Florimel’s delight with all around her had done something to restore Clementina’s composure: the place was precious to her, for there she had passed nearly the whole of her childhood. But to anyone with a heart open to the expressions of Nature’s countenance, the place could not but have a strange as well as peculiar charm.
Florimel had lost her way. I would rather it had been in the moonlight, but slant sunlight was next best. It shone through a slender multitude of mast-like stems, whose shadows complicated the wonder, while the light seemed amongst them to have gathered to itself properties appreciable by other organs besides the eyes, and to dwell bodily with the trees. The soil was mainly of sand, the soil to delight the long tap-roots of the fir-trees, covered above with a thick layer of slow-forming mould, in the gradual odoriferous decay of needles and cones and flakes of bark and knots of resinous exudation. It grew looser and sandier, and its upper coat thinner, as she approached the shore. The trees shrunk in size, stood farther apart, and grew more individual, sending out knarled boughs on all sides of them, and asserting themselves as the tall slender branchless ones in the social restraint of the thicker wood dared not do. They thinned and thinned, and the sea and the shore came shining through, for the ground sloped to the beach without any intervening abruption of cliff or even bank; they thinned and thinned until all were gone, and the bare long yellow sands lay stretched out on both sides for miles, gleaming and sparkling in the sun, especially at one spot where the water of a little stream wandered about over them, as if it had at length found its home, but was too weary to enter and lose its weariness, and must wait for the tide to come up and take it. But when Florimel reached the strand, she could see nothing of the group she sought: the shore took a little bend, and a tongue of forest came in between.