“I do not like to be asked if I am afraid. I am very much afraid, but I would die rather than not get on your mare.” So a chair was fetched, Miss Peniston put on her linen riding-mask, and in a moment was seated behind me. For ten minutes I was fully taken up with the feminine creature under me. At last I said:
“Put an arm around my waist. I must let her go. At once!” I added; for the mare was getting to rear a little, and the young woman hesitated. “Do as I tell thee!” I cried sharply, and when I felt her right arm about me, I said, “Hold fast!” and gave the mare her head. A mile sufficed, with the double burden, so to quiet her that she came down to her usual swift and steady walk.
When there was this chance to talk without having every word jolted out in fragments, the young person was silent; and when I remarked, “There is now an opportunity to chat with comfort,” said:
“I was waiting, sir, to hear your excuses; but perhaps Friends do not apologise.”
I thought her saucy, for I had done my best; and for her to think me unmannerly was neither just nor kind.
“If I am of thy friends—”
“Oh, Quakers, I meant. Friends with a large F, Mr. Wynne.”
“It had been no jesting matter if the mare had given thee a hard fall.”
“I should have liked that better than to be ordered to do as your worship thought fit.”
“Then thou shouldst not have obeyed me.”