LITMIR.BIZ

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quiet, you old fool,” said a deep voice behind him. He turned, and there stood Mark O’Donoghue himself, pale and haggard after his night’s excess. “Be quiet, I say. The mare is his – let him have her.”

      “Blessed Virgin!” exclaimed Kerry, “here’s the hunting season beginning, and sorrow thing you’ll have to put a saddle on, barrin’ – barrin’ – ”

      “Barring what?” interposed Lanty, with an insolent grin.

      The young man flushed at the impertinence of the insinuation, but said not a word for a few minutes, then suddenly exclaimed —

      “Lanty, I have changed my mind; I’ll keep the mare.”

      The horse-dealer started, and stared him full in the face —

      “Why Mr. Mark, surely you’re not in earnest? The beast is paid for – the bargain all settled.”

      “I don’t care for that. There’s your money again. I’ll keep the mare.”

      “Ay, but listen to reason. The mare is mine. She was so when you handed me the luck-penny, and if I don’t wish to part with her, you cannot compel me.”

      “Can’t I?” retorted Mark, with a jeering laugh; “can’t I, faith? Will you tell me what’s to prevent it? Will you take the law of me? Is that your threat?”

      “Devil a one ever said I was that mean, before!” replied Lanty, with an air of deeply-offended pride. “I never demeaned myself to the law, and I’m fifteen years buying and selling horses in every county in Munster. No, Mr. Mark, it is not that; but I’ll just tell you the truth, The mare is all as one as sold already; – there it is now, and that’s the whole secret.”

      “Sold! What do you mean? – that you had sold that mare before you ever bought her?”

      “To be sure I did,” cried Lanty, assuming a forced look of easy assurance he was very far from feeling at the moment. “There’s nothing more common in my trade. Not one of us buys a beast without knowing where the next owner is to be had.”

      “And do you mean, sir,” said Mark, as he eyed him with a steady stare, “do you mean to tell me that you came down here, as you would to a petty fanner’s cabin, with your bank-notes, ready to take whatever you may pitch your fancy on, sure and certain that our necessities must make us willing chapmen for all you care to deal in – do you dare to say that you have done this with me?”

      For an instant Lanty was confounded. He could not utter a word, and looked around him in the vain hope of aid from any other quarter, but none was forthcoming. Kerry was the only unoccupied witness of the scene, and his face beamed with ineffable satisfaction at the turn matters had taken, and as he rubbed his hands he could scarcely control his desire to laugh outright, at the lamentable figure of his late antagonist.

      “Let me say one word, Master Mark,” said Lanty at length, and in a voice subdued to its very softest key – “just a single word in your own ear,” and with that he led the young man outside the door of the stable, and whispered for some minutes, with the greatest earnestness, concluding in a voice loud enough to be heard by Kerry —

      “And after that, I’m sure I need say no more.”

      Mark made no answer, but leaned his back against the wall, and folded his arms upon his breast.

      “May I never if it is not the whole truth,” said Lanty, with a most eager and impassioned gesture; “and now I leave it all to yourself.”

      “Is he to take the mare?” asked Kerry, in anxious dread lest his enemy might have carried the day.

      “Yes,” was the reply, in a deep hollow voice, as the speaker turned away and left the stable.

      While Lanty was engaged in placing his saddle on his new purchase, an operation in which Kerry contrived not to afford him any assistance whatever, Mark O’Donoghue paced slowly to and fro in the courtyard, with his arms folded, and his head sunk upon his breast; nor was he aroused from his reverie until the step of the horse was heard on the pavement beside him.

      “Poor Kittane,” said he, looking up suddenly, “you were a great pet: I hope they’ll be as kind to you as I was; and they’d better, too,” added he, half-savagely, “for you’ve a drop of the Celt in your blood, and can revenge harsh treatment when you meet with it. Tell her owner that she is all gentleness, if not abused, but get her temper once up, and, by Jove, there’s not a torrent on the mountain can leap as madly! She knows her name, too: I trust they’ll not change that. She was bred beside Lough Kittane, and called after it. See how she can follow;” and with that, the youth sprang forward, and placing his hand on the top bar of a gate, vaulted lightly over; but scarcely had he reached the ground, when the mare bounded after him, and stood with her head resting on his shoulder.

      Mark turned an elated look on the others, and then surveyed the noble animal beside him with all the pride and admiration of a master regarding his handiwork. She was, indeed, a model of symmetry, and well worthy of all the praise bestowed on her.

      For a moment or two the youth gazed on her, with a flashing eye and quivering lip, while the mare, catching excitement from the free air of the morning, and the spring she had made, stood with swelled veins and trembling limbs, his counterpart in eagerness. One spirit seemed to animate both. So Mark appeared to feel it, as with a bound he sprung into the saddle, and with a wild cheer dashed forward. With lightning’s speed they went, and in a moment disappeared from view. Kerry jumped up on a broken gate-pier, and strained his eyes to catch them, while Lanty, muttering maledictions to himself, on the hair-brained boy, turned everywhere for a spot where he might view the scene.

      “There he goes,” shouted Kerry; “look at him now; he’s coming to the furze ditch into the big field: see! see! she does not see the fence; her head’s in the air. Whew – elegant, by the mortial – never touched a hoof to it! – murther! murther! how she gallops in the deep ground, and the wide gripe that’s before her! Ah, he won’t take it; he’s turning away.”

      “I wish to the Lord he’d break a stirrup-leather,” muttered Lanty.

      “Oh, Joseph!” screamed Kerry, “there was a jump – twenty feet as sure as I’m living. Where is he now? – I don’t see him.”

      “May you never,” growled Lanty, whose indignant anger had burst all bounds: “that’s not treatment for another man’s horse.”

      “There he goes, the jewel; see him in the stubble field; sure it’s a real picture to see him going along at his ease. Whurroo – he’s over the wall. What the devil’s the matter now? – they’re away;” and so it was: the animal that an instant before was cantering perfectly in hand, had now set off at top speed, and at full stretch. “See the gate – mind the gate – Master Mark – tear-and-ages, mind the gate,” shouted Kerry, as though his admonition could be heard half a mile away. “Oh! holy Mary! he’s through it,” and true enough – the wild and now affrighted beast dashed through the frail timbers, and held on her course, without stopping. “He’s broke the gate to flitters.”

      “May I never, if I don’t wish it was his neck,” said Lanty, in open defiance.

      “Do you, then?” called out Kerry. “Why, then, as sure as my name’s Kerry O’Leary, if there’s a hair of his head hurted, I’ll – ”

      What the threat was intended for, cannot be known; for his eye once more caught sight of his idol, and he yelled out —

      “Take care of the sheep. Bad luck to ye for sheep, ye’re always in the way. That’s the darling – ‘twas myself taught you to have a light hand. Ah, Kittane, you’re coming to rayson now.”

      “The mare won’t be worth sixpence,” muttered Lanty.

      “Twas as good as a day’s sport to me,” said Kerry, wiping his brow with the loose sleeve of his coat, and preparing to descend from the elevation, for the young man now entered the distant part of the lawn, and, at an easy canter, was returning to the stable-yard.

      “There!”

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