“No fear of that! That’s not how your neck will be broken, my man,” said his lordship, with an attempted laugh; for though he was all the angrier that he was ashamed of what he had done, he dared not further wrong the servant before his mistress.
A policeman came up and laid his hand on Kelpie’s bridle.
“Take care what you’re about,” said Malcolm; “the mare’s not safe. —There’s my mistress, the Marchioness of Lossie.”
The man saw an ugly look in Kelpie’s eye, withdrew his hand, and turned to Florimel.
“My groom is not to blame,” said she. “Lord Liftore struck his mare, and she became ungovernable.”
The man gave a look at Liftore, seemed to take his likeness, touched his hat, and withdrew.
“You’d better ride the jade home,” said Liftore.
Malcolm only looked at his mistress. She moved on, and he followed.
He was not so innocent in the affair as he had seemed. The expression of Liftore’s face as he drew nearer to Florimel, was to him so hateful, that he interfered in a very literal fashion: Kelpie had been doing no more than he had made her until the earl struck her.
“Let us ride to Richmond to-morrow,” said Florimel, “and have a good gallop in the park. Did you ever see a finer sight than that animal on the grass?”