‘Lift, be d——d!’ replied the indignant Neil; ‘I’ve enough to do to stick on.’
However, being muscular, active, and fearless, Neil’s star had hitherto favoured him, so that he was generally well up at the finish.
One needs a staunch horse for ‘cutting out’ work, but the great raking Desborough which Bob Clarke brought with him was surely too good to be knocked about in the Benmohr bogs and volcanic trap ‘rises’ at a muster, while his condition savoured more of the loose-box than the grass paddock. Bob was one of those fortunate individuals that every one everywhere, male and female, gentle and simple, is glad to welcome. So there was no dissentient to the view of duty he had adopted but Mr. Rockley. And though that gentleman stated it as his opinion that Master Bob would have been better at home minding his work if he ever intended to make money, he extended the right hand of fellowship to him, and was as gracious as all the world and distinctly the world’s wife (and probably daughter) was wont to be.
There were those who thought that Christabel Rockley’s eyes glowed with a deeper light after Bob’s coming was announced. But such an occasion would have brightened the girl’s flower-like face even if Bob had been doomed to eat his heart the while in solitude and disappointment on the far Mondarlo Plain.
‘None of the ladies who belonged to “our set,” and could ride at all, were absent,’ Neil Barrington remarked, ‘except Miss Fane; and it was a beastly shame she was prevented from coming—most likely by that old Turk of a father of hers. It was a real pleasure to see her ride, and now they were all done out of it.’
Just as Neil had concluded his lamentation for Vera Fane, who had won his heart by comforting him after one of his tumbles, saying that she never saw any one who rode so straight without turning out a horseman in the end, the Granville party, who had a long distance to come, made their appearance through the trees of the north gully, and there, on the well-known bonnie brown Emigrant, between Jack Granville and his sister Katie, was Vera Fane, or the evil one in her sweet guise.
So the grateful Neil was appeased, and straightway modified his language with respect to Dr. Fane’s parental shortcomings; while Wilfred Effingham, who never denied his interest in the young lady—chiefly, he avowed, as a study of character—felt more exhilarated than he could account for. The Granvilles were congratulated, first of all upon their own appearance, and assured they were not at all late (Rockley had been devoting them to the infernal deities for the last half-hour), then upon their thoughtful conduct in bringing Miss Fane.
‘Deal of trouble, of course,’ quoth Jack Granville. ‘Miss Fane is one of that sort, ain’t she? She rode over with a small black boy for an escort, and roused us up about midnight. Nearly shot her, didn’t I, Katie?’
‘I’m afraid I frightened you,’ said Miss Fane, with an apologetic expression, ‘but papa had only just come home from Sydney. I knew if I missed this eventful day I should never have such another chance, so I lifted up Wonga by his hair, poor child, to wake him, and then started off for a night ride.’
There was no time for further amenities, as the Master, triumphant and distinguished in the eyes of the Australian-born portion of the Hunt, gorgeous in buckskins, accurate top-boots, and a well-worn pink, moved off with fourteen couple of creditable foxhounds. A very fair, even-looking lot they were admitted to be. Old Tom had proved an admirable whip, displaying a keenness in the vocation which verified the tales with which he had regaled his acquaintances as to feats and frolics with the Blazers in the historic County Galway, in the kingdom of Long Ago.