Away they went truly, mane and hair alike flying in the breeze—Nell's short skirts puffed out by the wind, Nell's cheeks with red flames on them, and Nell's dark grey eyes blazing like subdued fires.
Once round the paddock they flew—twice they went—three times. The third round was the fastest and the most delirious of all. Nell was so sure of her seat, so confident in Robin's powers, that she no longer even clasped his arched neck. Up flew her hands in the air. The delirious excitement rendered her giddy.
"Hurrah! hurrah!" she shouted.
The gay words were interrupted by eager words from approaching spectators. The gate of the paddock was pushed open, and Kitty, aged nine, followed by Boris, who was only seven, rushed on the scene. The children were followed by a couple of grooms and a strange, horsey-looking man.
"Oh, Nell, Nell!" exclaimed Kitty.
"They're sold, Nell," said Boris, in a gloomy voice. "You'd better get down. That fellow there has come"—waving his hand with immense dignity in the direction of the horsey man—"that fellow has come to take them away; they're sold."
"I don't believe it," said Nell.
Robin, who obeyed her slightest word, stood stock still when she told him. She dropped off his back with the lightness of a bird.
"Who says they're sold?" she asked. "I don't believe it."
She pressed her hand to her heart as she spoke, a pang of keen pain had shot through it; she turned pale, and her eyes still blazed.