“Well, I’m busy,” said Martha; “but I might happen spare time.”
And so they plighted troth. And Simon, when at last he went indoors to get about the duties Lady Royd found for him, was astonished that he had no qualms. He had given his promise, and knew that, as a man of his word, he would keep it. All old instincts whispered that he had been “varry rash to tie himself in a halter in that fool’s fashion”; and yet he felt only like a lad who goes whistling to help his lass bring in the kine to byre.
As he reached the house, Nance, in her riding-habit, stepped out into the courtyard. Tired of her restless dreams, weary to death of the inaction and misery at Windyhough, she had stolen out of the house like a thief, afraid lest Lady Royd should need her before she made good her escape. She flushed guiltily even at this meeting with Simon, as if he had detected her in wrong-doing, though her longing for a gallop was innocent enough.
“You’re for riding on horseback, Miss Nance?” he asked, by way of giving her good-day.
“Yes, Simon. I shall die if I spend another day indoors. It is like being wrapped in cotton-wool.”
“Well, now, you’re right! I’ve just been to the stables myself,” he added dryly, “and you’ve the pick of three rare stay-at-homes to choose from. One’s broken-winded, and one’s spavined, and t’other’s lame in the off hind-leg. There’s a fine choice for you!”
“Which of the three shall I choose?” laughed Nance.
“Oh, I’d take the broken-winded one, with the head like Timothy Wade’s bass-viol that he plays i’ church. He’s a lot o’ fire in him yet—if you don’t mind him roaring like a half-gale under you. I was talking to him just now—telling him the oldsters had as much pluck in ’em as the youngsters. It was a shame, I said, to leave such spirited folk as him and me behind.”
Nance gave him a friendly smile—he had always been a favourite of hers, by force of his tough, homespun strength and honesty—and crossed the yard. The stablemen and grooms were off with Sir Jasper to the wars—all save two who were past seventy, and were warming themselves indoors before facing the nipping wind. She found the three horses left, like the stablemen, because of age and infirmity, and helped Simon, with a quickness she had learned in childhood, to saddle the fiddle-headed beast that he had recommended.
The beast had been eating his head off, and was almost youthful in caprice and eagerness as Nance rode him up into the moors. He had watched his comrades go out a week ago—mettled youngsters, neighing with wide nostrils from sheer lust of adventure—and he had been left to eat more corn than was good for him, left to think back along the years when men had needed him to carry the burden of their hopes.