"And she did?" inquired Diana.
"She did."
"What did that do, Mr. Knowlton?"
"Threw my poor steed off his legs forever!" And here, in despite of his vexation, which was real and apparent, the young man burst into a laugh. Diana had not got at his meaning.
"And where were you, Mr. Knowlton?"
"On his back. I shall never forgive myself for being such a boy. Don't you understand? The creature rose up just in time to be in the way of my leap, and we were thrown over—my horse and I."
"Thrown! You were not hurt, Mr. Knowlton?"
"I deserved it, didn't? But I was nothing the worse—except for losing my horse, and my self-complacency."
"Was the horse killed?"
"No; not by the fall. But he was injured; so that I saw the best thing to do would be to put him out of life at once; so I did it. I had my pistols; I often ride with them, to be ready for any sport that may offer. I am very much ashamed, to have to tell you this story of myself!"