They reached the stables, and he showed her a thoroughbred mare, spirited, obedient to a touch, gentle as a lamb, with a mouth like silk, and a coat which shone like the brightest satin.
“Ho! Bonny Jean,” said her master. The creature raised its perfect head—it had a white star on its forehead—whinnied in some excitement, and thrust its nose into Rowton’s hand.
“This is your mistress, Bonny Jean,” said Rowton again. “You must resume your riding lessons, Nancy,” he continued. “Murray can sit any horse that ever was broken in, or unbroken in for that matter, and when I am not here, he must accompany you—you must ride a good bit. After a little practice you’ll be able to follow the hounds.”
“And you,” she answered, “which is your horse?”
He showed her a beautiful hunter, which went by the name of Peregrine.
“These two make a perfect pair,” he said. “We’ll have many a good canter on their backs. By the way, I must order a habit for you. I will the next time I go to town.”
Nancy did not reply.
The happy morning passed all too swiftly. Lunch was scarcely over before the sound of wheels on the gravel proclaimed the first of the visitors who were calling to pay their respects to the bride.
The lady who drove up now was one of the characters of the neighbourhood—her name was Lady Georgina Strong. She drove herself, and stepped lightly down from the high dog-cart, throwing the reins as she did so to her groom.
Rowton and Nance were standing on the steps of the beautiful old house when she appeared.