“That’s right,” cried Saxa. “Oh, it will soon go off. Not so bad as a spill by a five-bar.”
“Get a liqueur,” said Dana. “I say; it has made you look white. Worse disasters at sea, eh?”
“Much,” said Beck, quietly; and then to himself, “Oh, how I do hate a horsey woman.”
“I say,” cried Saxa; “this isn’t going to spoil our ride, is it, daddy?”
“Oh, no, I hope not; but I will stay, my dears,” said Mr Elthorne.
“What! and not try your new horse! I should like to have the saddle shifted, and put him through his paces myself,” said Saxa, looking at the noble hunter held by a groom.
“No, no, my dear, not to-day,” said Mr Elthorne hastily. “Alison will go with you, girls, and—oh, there’s Burwood. Ask how Isabel is. Say it’s all right now, and the horses are waiting. She turned faint, I suppose. Beck, come in; you had better see the doctor.”
“Nonsense, my dear sir. I’m all right. It isn’t my bridle hand. I shall not want a whip.”
“Oh, no,” said Sir Cheltnam; “your mount wants no whip. Shall you venture?”
“Of course,” said Beck, walking toward where a helper held his horse, just as Isabel came out, looking very pale.