"Nay, but you are," said Tom. "I saw you take Harrowden Brook that day, when the rest turned tail; and that is what I call having a good heart. Gently, Mistress, here,—this is full of rabbit-holes. I seen Sir Ralph's sorrel mare break her leg in a moment in one of these. Shot her dead that afternoon, a did, and then b'iled her for the hounds. She'd often follow at their tails; next hunting-day she ran inside their bellies. Ha! ha! ha!"
"Oh, don't laugh! I am in agony!"
"Why, what is up, Mistress?" asked the young savage, lowering his voice. "'Murder,' says you; but that means nought. The lasses they cry murder, if you do but kiss 'em."
"Oh, Tom Leicester, it is murder! It's a duel, a fight to the death, unless we are in time to prevent them."
"A jewel!" cried Master Leicester, his eyes glittering with delight. "I never saw a jewel. Don't you hold him in for me, Mistress: gallop down this slope as hard as you can pelt; it is grass under foot, and ye can't lose the tracks, and I shall be sure to catch ye in the next field."
The young savage was now as anxious to be in at the death as Kate was to save life. As he spoke, he gave her horse a whack on the quarter with his stick, and away she went full gallop, and soon put a hundred yards between her and Tom.
The next field was a deep fallow, and the hard furrows reduced her to a trot; and before she got out of it Tom was by her side.
"Didn't I tell you?" said he. "I'd run you to Peyton Hall for a pot o' beer."
"Oh, you good, brave, clever boy!" said Kate, "how fortunate I am to have you! I think we shall be in time."
Tom was flattered.