“I will give no more,” replied Woodward; “so there is an end to it. Let me see the horse's eyes.”
He placed himself before the animal, and looked steadily into his eyes for about five minutes, after which he said,—
“I think, Mr. Murray, you would have acted more prudently had you taken my offer. I bade you full value for the horse.”
To Murray's astonishment the animal began to tremble excessively; the perspiration was seen to flow from him in torrents; he appeared feeble and collapsed; and seemed scarcely able to stand on his limbs, which were shaking as if with terror under him.
“Why, Mr. Murray,” said Woodward, “I am very glad I did not buy him; the beast is ill, and will be for the dogs of the neighborhood in three days' time.”
“Until the last five minutes, sir, there wasn't a sounder horse in Europe.”
“Look at him now, then,” said Woodward; “do you call that a sound horse? Take him into the stable; before the expiration of three days you will be flaying him.”
His words were prophetic. In three days' time the fine and healthy animal was a carcass.
“Ah!” said the farmer, when he saw the horse lying dead before him, “this fellow is his mother's son. From the time he looked into the horse's eyes the poor beast sank so rapidly that he didn't pass the third day alive. And there are fifty guineas out of my pocket. The curse of God on him wherever he goes!”
Woodward provided himself, however, with another horse, and in due time set out for the Spa at Ballyspellan.