He hastens to me. To denounce me as an impostor? Have I done anything wrong, or injured the horse?
"I congratulate you, Smoothley,—I congratulate you! I promised you a run, and you've had one, and, by Jove! taken the shine out of some of us. My Lord"—to the master—"let me present my friend, Mr Smoothley, to you. Did you see him take the water? You and I made for the Narrows, but he didn't turn away, and went at it as if Sousemere were a puddle. Eighteen feet of water if it's an inch, and with such a take-off and such a landing, there's not a man in the hunt who'd attempt it! Well, Heathertopper! Laura, my dear,"—for she and the bulky Baronet at this moment arrived at the head of a straggling detachment of followers—"you missed a treat in not seeing Smoothley charge the brook:
'Down in the hollow there, sluggish and idle,
Runs the dark stream where the willow trees grow,
Harden your heart, and catch hold of your bridle—
Steady him—rouse him—and over we go!'
"Isn't that it? It was beautiful!"
It might have been in his opinion; in mine it was simply an act of unconscious insanity, which I had rather die than intentionally repeat.
"I didn't see you all the time, Mr Smoothley; where were you?" Laura asked.
"Where was he?" cried the Major. "Not following you, my dear. He took his own line, and, by Jove! it was a right one!"