He arose precipitately, and, with a bow to his father, rushed into the open air, and going to the stables bade John saddle Bedouin, his favorite mare and pet. “Surely, Mr. Godfrey, you will not ride in this dreadful heat. It will kill the mare. She has not been much used to exercise lately,” John said, for he knew his young master’s partiality for fast and long riding, and dreaded the effect on Bedouin, a beautiful young chestnut mare with graceful, flowing mane. But Godfrey was not in a mood to consider either horse-flesh or heat. He must do something to work off that load weighing so heavily upon his heart, and mounting Bedouin and giving her full rein, he went tearing down the avenue at headlong speed and off into the country, mile after mile, while the people in the farm-houses looked curiously after him, wondering if it were a case of life or death, or if he were some felon escaping from justice. On and on he went, knowing nothing of the flecks of white foam gathering all over Bedouin’s body, and knowing nothing how fast or how far he was riding, or that he had turned and was going toward home, until, on a sudden, the poor beast began to reel, and with a few plunges came heavily to the ground just before the door of Mrs. Vandeusenhisen. In a trice the good woman was at his side, followed by the twins whose interest in the struggling steed was greater than in the young man picking himself up and rubbing his bruised knee. “Poor Bedouin. I’m afraid it’s all over with you,” Godfrey said as he knelt by the dying brute, whom he tenderly caressed, and who seemed to understand him. “Poor Bedouin, poor pet, I did not mean to kill you. I am so sorry. Poor little lady,” he kept repeating, as he held the horse’s head on his arm and gazed into the dying eyes, where there was almost a human look of love and pardon as the noble beast expired. “He’s a goner, sure,” came from one of the twins, as the horse ceased to breathe and Godfrey bent to undo the fastenings of the saddle. “What is it? Is any one hurt? Oh, Godfrey, is that you? What is the matter?” was spoken in a voice which made Godfrey start, and turning round he saw Gertie in the door. She had been sitting with old Mrs. Vandeusenhisen, who was sick, and hearing the noise outside had come to see what was the matter. “Are you hurt? What is it? Oh, Godfrey, Bedouin is dead! What _have_ you been doing?” she asked, with tears in her eyes and reproach in her voice. “Been exorcising the demon within me, and believe I’ve succeeded in casting it out, but at the cost of Beddy’s life. Poor Beddy! I hope she’s gone where she’ll have nothing to do but eat clover and kick up her heels the blessed day,” Godfrey answered playfully, trying to make light of it, though in truth his heart was very heavy as he removed the saddle and bridle, and calling to some men working on the road at a little distance, made arrangements with them for burying his horse. Then turning to Gertie he said: