When he reached the house and found that she had gone out riding alone,
his uneasiness increased. Why had she not waited as usual for him to
ride with her? And he paced up and down the garden, where the wind
was melancholy in the boughs of the walnut-tree that had lost all its
leaves. Little Gyp was out for her walk, and only poor old Ossy kept him
company. Had she not expected him by the usual train? He would go and
try to find out. He changed and went to the stables. Old Pettance was
sitting on a corn-bin, examining an aged Ruff's Guide, which contained
records of his long-past glory, scored under by a pencil: "June
Stakes: Agility. E. Pettance 3rd." "Tidport Selling H'Cap: Dorothea, E.
Pettance, o." "Salisbury Cup: Also ran Plum Pudding, E. Pettance," with
other triumphs. He got up, saying:
"Good-afternoon, sir; windy afternoon, sir. The mistress 'as been gone
out over two hours, sir. She wouldn't take me with 'er."
"Hurry up, then, and saddle Hotspur."
"Yes, sir; very good, sir."
Over two hours! He went up on to the downs, by the way they generally
came home, and for an hour he rode, keeping a sharp lookout for any sign
of her. No use; and he turned home, hot and uneasy. On the hall table
were her riding-whip and gloves. His heart cleared, and he ran upstairs.
She was doing her hair and turned her head sharply as he entered.
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