"I can't tell you," he said at last, simply. "Only I know horses have a
kind of instinct which very often warns them of danger. I've seen a similar
thing happen once before, in the hunting field. A man was riding straight
for a high bank that looked just like an ordinary on and off jump. You
couldn't see what lay beyond it, and on the further side there was a
forty-foot drop into a quarry. His horse had its forefeet actually on the
bank--and then it must have sensed the danger, for it swung right round,
just as the mare did to-day."
As he finished speaking, he gathered up the reins and remounted.
"We'd better be jogging homeward, I think," he said. "The mare's too hot to
stand about. I don't want her to catch cold."
They rode slowly over the springy turf, the bay mare beaten but not cowed,
responding docilely to every touch of Brett's hands on the bridle. She had
learned her lesson, recognised the man who rode her as her master.
Ann was very quiet, her thoughts preoccupied with the happenings of the
afternoon. In some sort, they shed a fresh light on the character of the
man beside her. It was impossible not to admire his cool composure in the
face of danger, and his unexpected kindliness to the mare, once he had
asserted his supremacy over her, and her responsiveness to his caress, had
astonished Ann considerably.
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