Mine host at the wayside inn, where the two young men had left their horses on the preceding day, was duly surprised and impressed by the appearance of one of his guests in company with no less a personage than Miss Cranstoun of the Chase.
Sir Philip Cranstoun was the innkeeper’s landlord, and although he had hardly ever caught more than a fleeting glimpse of the young lady, he knew who she must be by the livery of the groom, who rode at some distance behind the young lady, and her cavalier, on a sturdy cob not given to exerting himself.
“I assure you, sir, that I never had the least idea that you and Lord Carthew wouldn’t come back to pay your little trifle here, as you suggest,” the man said, all deference and smiles. “Seeing as you’d left a hundred guineas or more of horseflesh in my stables, it wasn’t likely, sir, was it?”
Stella at once begged to see the horses, and Lord Carthew hastened to help her down from her saddle, a proceeding which took far too little time in his opinion, for Stella was lithe and active as a sailor lad. Gathering her neat, dark green habit into her small hand in its dogskin glove, she followed the landlord and her guest to the inn stables, while the groom held the horses upon which they had come.
Black Bess and the chestnut cob duly made their appearance, and were stroked and made much of by Stella, who, somewhat to Lord Carthew’s chagrin, manifested a decided preference for the big black mare.
“She isn’t what I call a ’andsome ’oss, either, if I may make so bold as to say so,” observed the old hostler of the inn, critically. “At least, not for such a young gentleman as his lordship. But she looks like a good ’un to go and to stay. This ’ere chestnut of yours, sir, ’as a lot more blood in ’im now, ’asn’t ’e?”
“He has a long pedigree, certainly,” returned Lord Carthew. “But my friend weighs fourteen stone against my ten, and wants more bone and muscle than I do in his mount.”
“That ’e do, sure enough, sir. And this ’ere animal,” signifying Black Bess, “she’d carry the Mayor and Corporation o’ London by turns all day long and be as frisky as a colt at bedtime. She’s as strong as a dray ’oss, she is.”
Stella’s fair cheek was pressed against Black Bess’ long, black satin neck, and her soft, cooing voice, beloved of all dumb things, was murmuring friendly speeches into the ears of the mare, which were pricked up, and moving quickly backward and forward in appreciation of the attention paid her.
Lord Carthew meanwhile was increasing Stella’s liking for him by giving minute directions as to the food for the animals until they would be wanted again by their masters. Stella would have suggested that they should be sent to the Chase stables, but Lady Cranstoun had given her no instruction on that point and fear of her father restrained her.