ight fell across the skin of Winton's first tiger, on which she
had so often sunk down dead tired after hunting. Ah, it was nice to be
at home!

In her mare's box, old Pettance was putting a last touch to cleanliness.
His shaven, skin-tight, wicked old face, smiled deeply. He said in
honeyed tones:

"Good evenin', miss; beautiful evenin', ma'am!" And his little burning
brown eyes, just touched by age, regarded her lovingly.

"Well, Pettance, how are you? And how's Annie, and how are the children?
And how's this old darling?"

"Wonderful, miss; artful as a kitten. Carry you like a bird to-morrow,
if you're goin' out."

"How are her legs?"

And while Gyp passed her hand down those iron legs, the old mare examined
her down the back of her neck.

"They 'aven't filled not once since she come in--she was out all July and
August; but I've kept 'er well at it since, in 'opes you might be
comin'."

"They feel splendid." And, still bending down, Gyp asked: "And how is
your lodger--the young lady I sent you?"

"Well, ma'am, she's very young, and these very young ladies they get a
bit excited, you know, at such times; I should say she've never been--"
With obvious difficulty he checked the words, "to an 'orse before!"
"Well, you must expect it. And her mother, she's a dreadful funny one,
miss. She does needle me! Oh, she puts my back up properly! No class,
of course--that's where it is. But this 'ere nurse--well, you know,
miss, she won't 'ave no nonsense; so there we are. And, of course,
you're bound to 'ave 'ighsteria, a bit--losin' her 'usband as young as
that."

Gyp could feel his wicked old smile even before she raised herself. But
what did it matter if he did guess? She knew he would keep a stable
secret.

"Oh, we've 'ad some pretty flirts--up and cryin', dear me! I sleeps in
the next room--oh, yes, at night-time--when you're a widder at that age,
you can't expect nothin' else. I remember when I was ridin' in Ireland
for Captain O'Neill, there was a young woman--"

Gyp thought: 'I mustn't let him get off--or I shall be late for dinner,'
and she said:

"Oh, Pettance, who bought the young brown horse?"

"Mr. Bryn Summer'ay, ma'am, over at Widrington, for an 'unter, and 'ack
in town, miss."

"Summerhay? Ah!" With a touch of the whip to her memory, Gyp recalled
the young man with the clear eyes and teasing smile, on the chestnut
mare, the bold young man who reminded her of somebody, and she a