“That rasher o’ wind?” said Ben disparagingly. “That was Mr. Stornaway, that was. He’s a slow-top. Drives a couple of puffers.”
John nodded, as though this confirmed his suspicion; and, leaving Ben to look after the gate, went off across the field which lay behind the toll-house to the barn where Beau was stabled.
He was engaged in grooming the big bay when a shadow darkened the doorway, and he glanced over his shoulder, and saw Nell Stornaway standing on the threshold. He put the brush down quickly, and moved to meet her, saying involuntarily: “You! I dared not hope I should see you today!”
Her colour was a little heightened, but she replied in a rallying tone: “No, indeed! I don’t wonder at it, and am only surprised you can look me in the face after such treachery!”
He was standing immediately before her, smiling down at her, a fair young giant, in stained buckskins and a coarse shirt, open at the neck, and with the sleeves rolled up to show his powerful forearms. “What treachery?” he asked.
“Dissembler! Did you not betray to Rose that I had divulged her story?”
“No, only to Chirk!”
“I shall not allow you to excuse yourself on that head! Such a scold as I have had! You deserve I should lay an information against you with the trustees of the tolls!”
“Oh, no! For I have had a scold too, you know! Only Rose forgave me!”
“You made up to her quite scandalously, I daresay! Ah, is this your Beau?” She moved towards the horse as she spoke, looking him over with an appraising eye. “Oh, you are a very fine fellow: complete to a shade!” she said, patting the arched neck. “Yes, I have some sugar in my pocket, but who told you so, sir? There, then!” She looked round at John. “Did you call him Beau for his good points, or for his Roman nose? My brother told me that the Beau was the name given to the Duke of Wellington, in the Peninsula.”