"A little more than I thought," said the gentleman, as he leaned against the saddle. "Poor old Falcon," patting the horse, "don't look so grieved. It wasn't so much your fault as my carelessness."
Then the caressing movement of the hand ceased, and he stood listening as one who fears pursuit. He tried to mount to the saddle, but failed.
"Heaven help me!" he murmured. And then, as though Heaven had inspired him, he turned to Paul suddenly with a hopeful light in his eye: "Can you ride, my lad?"
"Rather! I learnt to ride almost as soon as I could walk," smiled Paul.
It was no empty boast. Paul had been taught riding at a very early age, and was as much at home in the saddle as on his feet.
"I seem to have sprained my leg, and it is getting more painful every moment. I've got a message of the utmost importance that must reach Redmead to-night. You know Redmead?"
"Well."
"Will you take a message for me? I ask it as a great favour, my lad."
He spoke with great earnestness, and waited eagerly for Paul's answer. Paul did not at once respond. Redmead was seven miles distant; it was getting dusk; the journey to Redmead and back would take him close upon two hours; his mother would wonder at his absence.
"You won't refuse me, lad. You don't know what it means to me, and others."