Colonel Clifford received her with warm affection and old-fashioned courtesy; but as he was disabled by a violent fit of gout, he deputed Walter to attend to her on foot and horseback. Miss Clifford, accustomed to homage, laid Walter under contribution every day. She was very active, and he had to take her a walk in the morning, and a ride in the afternoon. He winced a little under this at first; it kept him so much from Mary. But there was some compensation. Julia Clifford was a lady-like rider, and also a bold and skillful one. The first time he rode with her he asked her beforehand what sort of a horse she would like. "Oh, anything," said she, "that is not vicious nor slow." "A hack or a hunter?" "Oh, a hunter, if I _may_." "Perhaps you will do me the honor to look at them and select." "You are very kind, and I will." He took her to the stables, and she selected a beautiful black mare, with a coat like satin. "There," said Walter, despondingly. "I was afraid you would fix on _her_. She is impossible, I can't ride her myself." "Vicious?" "Not in the least." "Well, then--" Here an old groom touched his hat, and said, curtly, "Too hot and fidgety, miss. I'd as lieve ride of a boiling kettle." Walter explained: "The poor thing is the victim of nervousness." "Which I call them as rides her the victims," suggested the ancient groom. "Be quiet, George. She would go sweetly in a steeple-chase, if she didn't break her heart with impatience before the start. But on the road she is impossible. If you make her walk, she is all over lather in five minutes, and she'd spoil that sweet habit with flecks of foam. My lady has a way of tossing her head, and covering you all over with white streaks." "She wants soothing," suggested Miss Clifford. "Nay, miss. She wants bleeding o' Sundays, and sweating over the fallows till she drops o' week-days. But if she was mine I'd put her to work a coal-cart for six months; that would larn her." "I will ride her," said Miss Clifford, calmly; "her or none." "Saddle her, George," said Walter, resignedly. "I'll ride Goliah. Black Bess sha'n't plead a bad example. Goliah is as meek as Moses, Miss Clifford. He is a gigantic mouse." "I'd as lieve ride of a dead man," said the old groom. "Mr. George," said the young lady, "you seem hard to please. May I ask what sort of animal you do like to ride?" "Well, miss, summat between them two. When I rides I likes to be at peace. If I wants work, there's plenty in the yard. If I wants fretting and fuming, I can go home: I'm a married man, ye know. But when I crosses a horse I looks for a smart trot and a short stepper, or an easy canter on a bit of turf, and not to be set to hard labor a-sticking my heels into Goliah, nor getting a bloody nose every now and then from Black Bess a-throwing back her uneasy head when I do but lean forward in the saddle. I be an old man, miss, and I looks for peace on horseback if I can't get it nowhere else."