But that look moved her to spring forward, lay her hand on the mare’s muzzle, and falter out vainly a few caressing words. Worse than vainly, for the mare lowered her head, and increased the sufferer’s agony.
“Don’t,” he whispered hoarsely.
“Dana, I shall have to shoot her,” cried Mr Elthorne hoarsely.
Alison pressed forward, and passed his arm about his friend’s waist, for he saw that he was ready to fall, and the morning’s comedy was on the point of becoming tragic, when a loud neigh came from one of the horses being led around to the front, and Beck’s hand fell from the mare’s jaws, for she threw up her head and uttered a whinnying answer to the challenge of Mr Elthorne’s new hunter, The Don.
“Ah!”
It was more a groan than a sigh of relief from all around, while, tightening her rein, Dana cut the mare across the ears with all her might; and as the graceful animal bounded forward, she kept on lashing it furiously, making it curvet and plunge and snort, as it excited the other horses near.
“Don’t! don’t! Dana,” cried her sister. “She’ll throw you.”
“A vicious beast!—a vicious beast!” panted the girl, as she still plied her whip till Mr Elthorne caught her arm.
Beck stood, half supported by Alison, watching Isabel being assisted into the breakfast-room by her aunt and Sir Cheltnam, till she disappeared, when he reeled slightly, but made an effort to recover himself.
“Much hurt, old man?”