ne quarter? You
have found your hopes defeated; but how am I to blame for it? I warned
you beforehand, you know, but you would not--'

He said no more; for, impelled by some fiend at my elbow, I had seized my
whip by the small end, and--swift and sudden as a flash of
lightning--brought the other down upon his head. It was not without a
feeling of savage satisfaction that I beheld the instant, deadly pallor
that overspread his face, and the few red drops that trickled down his
forehead, while he reeled a moment in his saddle, and then fell backward
to the ground. The pony, surprised to be so strangely relieved of its
burden, started and capered, and kicked a little, and then made use of
its freedom to go and crop the grass of the hedge-bank: while its master
lay as still and silent as a corpse. Had I killed him?--an icy hand
seemed to grasp my heart and check its pulsation, as I bent over him,
gazing with breathless intensity upon the ghastly, upturned face. But
no; he moved his eyelids and uttered a slight groan. I breathed
again--he was only stunned by the fall. It served him right--it would
teach him better manners in future. Should I help him to his horse? No.
For any other combination of offences I would; but his were too
unpardonable. He might mount it himself, if he liked--in a while:
already he was beginning to stir and look about him--and there it was for
him, quietly browsing on the road-side.

So with a muttered execration I left the fellow to his fate, and clapping
spurs to my own horse, galloped away, excited by a combination of
feelings it would not be easy to analyse; and perhaps, if I did so, the
result would not be very creditable to my disposition; for I am not sure
that a species of exultation in what I had done was not one principal
concomitant.

Shortly, however, the effervescence began to abate, and not many minutes
elapsed before I had turned and gone back to look after the fate of my
victim. It was no generous impulse--no kind relentings that led me to
this--nor even the fear of what might be the consequences to myself, if I
finished my assault upon the squire by leaving him thus neglected, and
exposed to further injury; it was, simply, the voice of conscience; and I
took great credit to myself for attending so promptly to its
dictates--and judging the merit of the deed by the sacrifice it cost, I
was not far wrong.

Mr. Lawrence and his pony had both altered their positions in som