Instead of trying to still his fears, he
encouraged them, with that superstitious impression which clings to us
all, that if we expect evil very strongly it is the less likely to
come; and when he heard a horse approaching at a trot, and saw a hat
rising above a hedge beyond an angle of the lane, he felt as if his
conjuration had succeeded. But no sooner did the horse come within
sight, than his heart sank again. It was not Wildfire; and in a few
moments more he discerned that the rider was not Dunstan, but Bryce,
who pulled up to speak, with a face that implied something
disagreeable.
'Well, Mr Godfrey, that's a lucky brother of yours, that Master
Dunsey, isn't he?'
'What do you mean?' said Godfrey, hastily.
'Why, hasn't he been home yet?' said Bryce.
'Home? no. What has happened? Be quick. What has he done with my
horse?'
'Ah, I thought it was yours, though he pretended you had parted
with it to him.'
'Has he thrown him down and broken his knees?' said Godfrey,
flushed with exasperation.
'Worse than that,' said Bryce. 'You see, I'd made a bargain with
him to buy the horse for a hundred and twenty- a swinging price, but I
always liked the horse. And what does he do but go and stake him-
fly at a hedge with stakes in it, atop of a bank with a ditch before
it. The horse had been dead a pretty good while when he was found.
So he hasn't been home since, has he?'
'Home? no,' said Godfrey, 'and he'd better keep away.
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