It was a pretty sight—the slender figure in the grass, the high-spirited horse bending his proud head to her hand. Edward Coventry, who had watched the scene, found it impossible to restrain himself any longer and, leaping the wall, came to join the group, saying, with mingled admiration and wonder in countenance and voice, “Good morning, Miss Muir. If I had not seen your skill and courage proved before my eyes, I should be alarmed for your safety. Hector is a wild, wayward beast, and has damaged more than one groom who tried to conquer him.”
“Good morning, Mr. Coventry. Don’t tell tales of this noble creature, who has not deceived my faith in him. Your grooms did not know how to win his heart, and so subdue his spirit without breaking it.”
Miss Muir rose as she spoke, and stood with her hand on Hector’s neck while he ate the grass which she had gathered in the skirt of her dress.
“You have the secret, and Hector is your subject now, though heretofore he has rejected all friends but his master. Will you give him his morning feast? I always bring him bread and play with him before breakfast.”
“Then you are not jealous?” And she looked up at him with eyes so bright and beautiful in expression that the young man wondered he had not observed them before.
“Not I. Pet him as much as you will; it will do him good. He is a solitary fellow, for he scorns his own kind and lives alone, like his master,” he added, half to himself.
“Alone, with such a happy home, Mr. Coventry?” And a softly compassionate glance stole from the bright eyes.
“That was an ungrateful speech, and I retract it for Bella’s sake. Younger sons have no position but such as they can make for themselves, you know, and I’ve had no chance yet.”
“Younger sons! I thought—I beg pardon.” And Miss Muir paused, as if remembering that she had no right to question.
Edward smiled and answered frankly, “Nay, don’t mind me. You thought I was the heir, perhaps. Whom did you take my brother for last night?”