see? And, since then, all so
gradual, and nothing, really, or almost nothing. Again the surge of
anger swelled his heart. She must have read the letter which had been
under that cursed bust of old Voltaire all those months ago. The poison
had been working ever since! And in sudden fury at that miserable
mischance, he drove his fist into the bronze face. The bust fell over,
and Summerhay looked stupidly at his bruised hand. A silly thing to do!
But it had quenched his anger. He only saw Gyp's face now--so pitifully
unhappy. Poor darling! What could he do? If only she would believe!
And again he had the sickening conviction that whatever he did would be
of no avail. He could never get back, was only at the beginning, of a
trouble that had no end. And, like a rat in a cage, his mind tried to
rush out of this entanglement now at one end, now at the other. Ah,
well! Why bruise your head against walls? If it was hopeless--let it
go! And, shrugging his shoulders, he went out to the stables, and told
old Pettance to saddle Hotspur. While he stood there waiting, he
thought: 'Shall I ask her to come?' But he could not stand another bout
of misery--must have rest! And mounting, he rode up towards the downs.

Hotspur, the sixteen-hand brown horse, with not a speck of white, that
Gyp had ridden hunting the day she first saw Summerhay, was nine years
old now. His master's two faults as a horseman--a habit of thrusting,
and not too light hands--had encouraged his rather hard mouth, and
something had happened in the stables to-day to put him into a queer
temper; or perhaps he felt--as horses will--the disturbance raging within
his rider. At any rate, he gave an exhibition of his worst qualities,
and Summerhay derived perverse pleasure from that waywardness. He rode a
good hour up there; then, hot, with aching arms--for the brute was
pulling like the devil!--he made his way back toward home and entered
what little Gyp called "the wild," those two rough sedgy fields with the
linhay in the corner where they joined. There was a gap in the
hedge-growth of the bank between them, and at this he put Hotspur at
speed. The horse went over like a bird; and for the first time since
Diana's kiss Summerhay felt a moment's joy. He turned him round and sent
him at it again, and again Hotspur cleared it beautifully. But the
animal's blood was up now. Summerhay could hardly hold him. Muttering:
"Oh, you BRUTE, don't pull!" he j