"The Major would seem in a hurry this morning," said he, smiling down into my lady's pensive face, "or is it that his horse bolted with him?"
The Sergeant snorted but, before he could speak, Lady Betty's gloved hand was upon his arm.
"Sergeant Zebedee," said she gently, "I—trust to you and you won't fail me, I know!" Then, smiling a little wistfully she turned and rode away between her two cavaliers.
"Now all I says is," said the Sergeant, rasping his fingers across his big, smooth-shaven chin, "all I says is that look o' hers has drove the word 'fail' clean off the field wi' no chance o' rallying. All I asks is—How?" Having questioned himself thus and found no answer, he presently set off in pursuit of the Major, as fast as his stout cob would carry him.
The Major sat his fretting mare beneath the shadow of trees, but despite this shade he looked hot and uncomfortable.
"You've been the deuce of a while, Zebedee," said he, fidgeting in his saddle.
"No help for it, your honour," answered the Sergeant, saluting, "her ladyship having halted me, d'ye see."
"Ha—what did she say, Zeb?"
"Demanded wherefore you bolted, sir."
"And—what did you tell her?"