Then Margaret slid from the saddle, and put her arms around the neck of the trembling horse. Gypsy would have nothing to do with her, and sniffed the air with offended dignity.
“It was a shame, Gyp,” she cried, almost tearfully, stroking the glossy neck of her resentful friend; “it was, it was, and I know it; but what was I to do, Gyp? You were the only protector I had, and you did bowl him over beautifully; no other horse could have done it so well. It’s wicked, but I do hope you hurt him, just because I had to strike you.”
Gypsy was still wrathful, and indicated by a toss of the head that the wheedling of a woman did not make up for a blow. It was the insult more than the pain; and from her—there was the sting of it.
“I know—I know just how you feel, Gypsy dear; and I don’t blame you for being angry. I might have spoken to you, of course, but there was no time to think, and it was really him I was striking. That’s why it came down so hard. If I had said a word, he would have got out of the way, coward that he was, and then would have shot you—you, Gypsy! Think of it!”
If a man can be molded in any shape that pleases a clever woman, how can a horse expect to be exempt from her influence. Gypsy showed signs of melting, whinnying softly and forgivingly.
“And it will never happen again, Gypsy—never, never. As soon as we are safe home again I will burn that whip. You little pet, I knew you wouldn’t——”
Gypsy’s head rested on Margaret’s shoulder, and we must draw a veil over the reconciliation. Some things are too sacred for a mere man to meddle with. The friends were friends once more, and on the altar of friendship the unoffending whip was doubtless offered as a burning sacrifice.
When the doctor came out, Margaret explained the danger of the road, and proposed that they should return by the longer and northern way—the Concession, as it was called.
They met no one on the silent road, and soon they saw the light in the window.
The doctor and the girl left their horses tied some distance from the house, and walked together to the window with the stealthy steps of a pair of housebreakers. Margaret listened breathlessly at the closed window, and thought she heard the low murmur of conversation. She tapped lightly on the pane, and the professor threw back the door-window.