“The brute!” he muttered, looking at them commiseratingly. Margaret tried to withdraw them, but he held them fast.
“Are they hurt?” he asked.
“No; but my hair——”
He bent over, and, ere Margaret knew what he was doing, pressed both palms to his lips.
“Poor little hands!” he said softly.
Margaret gave a little gasp and tore them away. With crimson cheeks and averted head she strove to fix her hair. John turned to Phillip. If the latter had seen he gave no evidence of the fact, but was examining the broken rein.
“Your sister must take my horse the rest of the way,” John said.
“All right; and you can have Winchester.”
“No,” said John grimly; “I want the other. I like him. I think we shall get on finely together.” He stroked Cardinal’s quivering muzzle. “You’d like me to ride you back, wouldn’t you, you nice, sensible horsie?” he muttered. “You wouldn’t run away with me, would you? You don’t want your damned neck broken, do you? I’d like to own you for about ten minutes, you dear thing!”