They fled past Ann at racing speed, and she
watched, dumb with amazement, while Brett steered a huge semicircular
course on the downs, keeping the animal he rode at full stretch the whole
time. When at last they came back and pulled up, the mare's breath was
sobbing in her throat, while Brett himself, hatless and deadly pale beneath
his crop of ruddy hair, was almost reeling in the saddle.
Rather stiffly he dismounted and, slipping the reins loosely over his arm,
walked towards Ann, the mare following him meekly, like a beaten child.
He looked fagged out, but his blue eyes still gleamed with their old
indomitable fire.
"Brett! How could you?" exclaimed Ann breathlessly, as they approached.
"How could I--what?"
"Gallop the mare like that, just after she'd run away? She might have
bolted with you again."
He threw back his head and laughed.
"Not likely! She'll never try those tricks with me again. Will you, old
lady?"--and he rubbed the black velvet muzzle at his side with a kindly
hand. To Ann's astonishment, the mare, dripping with the sweat of sheer
exhaustion, her coat striped with the hiding Brett had given her, pushed
her head forward, nuzzling his sleeve.
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