customed lump of sugar, he felt
a glow of affection spread from his heart and pervade his whole being.
Yes, he loved this beautiful animal with a devotion which, a year ago,
he would scarcely have thought it possible to bestow upon a horse.
No one could have persuaded him that Lady Clare had not a soul which
(whether it was immortal or not) was, at all events, as distinct and
clearly defined as that of any person with whom he was acquainted. She
was to him a personality--a dear, charming friend, with certain
defects of character (as who has not?) which were, however, more
than compensated for by her devotion to him. She was fastidious,
quick-tempered, utterly unreasonable where her feelings were involved;
full of aristocratic prejudice, which only her sex could excuse; and
whimsical, proud, and capricious. It was absurd, of course, to contend
that these qualities were in themselves admirable; but, on the other
hand, few of us would not consent to overlook them in a friend who loved
us as well as Lady Clare loved Erik.

The fame of Lady Clare spread through the parish like fire in withered
grass. People came from afar to look at her, and departed full of wonder
at her beauty. When the captain and his son rode together to church on
Sunday morning, men, women, and children stood in rows at the roadside
staring at the wonderful mare as if she had been a dromedary or a
rhinoceros. And when she was tied in the clergyman's stable a large
number of the men ignored the admonition of the church bells and missed
the sermon, being unable to tear themselves away from Lady Clare's
charms. But woe to him who attempted to take liberties with her; there
were two or three horsy young men who had narrow escapes from bearing
the imprint of her iron shoes for the rest of their days.

That taught the others a lesson, and now Lady Clare suffered from no
annoying familiarities, but was admired at a respectful distance, until
the pastor, vexed at her rivalry with his sermon, issued orders to have
the stable-door locked during service.

There was one person besides the pastor who was ill pleased at the
reputation Lady Clare was making. That was John Garvestad, the owner of
Valders-Roan. John was the richest man in the parish, and always made
a point of keeping fine horses. Valders-Roan, a heavily built, powerful
horse, with a tremendous neck and chest and long tassels on his
fetlocks, but rather squat in the legs, had hitherto held undisputed