“The charm of a steady hand and a strong arm,” replied Lewis. “But these horses and I are old acquaintances; we had a struggle once for the mastery, and I conquered, which they have not forgotten.” He then gave her a short account of the runaway scene in Broad-hurst Park, to which she listened with much interest. When he had concluded, Annie remarked, “How dreadful it must have been when they were rushing towards the lake, and you felt uncertain whether you might be able to check their wild career! That lake seems destined to become the scene of dangerous adventures. I must take this opportunity,” she continued with a faint blush, “of thanking you for saving my life. In the few hurried lines I wrote you, I am afraid I scarcely made you understand how much I--in fact, that I am not ungrateful.” It was now Lewis’s turn to feel embarrassed. The moment he had sought for was arrived. He must confess that which would turn his companion’s gratitude into aversion; he must forfeit her good opinion irretrievably, and probably for this very reason (so perverse is human nature), he, for the first time, discovered that he valued it highly. Annie was the only member of the family (with the exception, perhaps, of Charles Leicester) who had never caused him to feel painfully his dependent situation; and it had not escaped his notice how on several occasions she had interfered to save him from some trifling annoyance, which her woman’s tact led her to feel would be doubly mortifying to his proud and sensitive nature. Still he had resolved to make the confession, and with him to resolve and to do were one and the same thing. Another difficulty which rendered his task more embarrassing was that, in order to make his explanation intelligible, he must revert to Lord Bellefield’s insult, and though at that moment nothing would have given him greater satisfaction than to bestow on that unworthy scion of nobility a sound horse-whipping, he shrank from the idea of being supposed capable of the littleness of revenging himself by injuring his enemy in the affections of his betrothed. Thinking, however, was useless; the more he reflected the more embarrassed did he become, so he plunged at once _in media res_ by exclaiming, “You cannot be aware, Miss Grant, of the pain your words give me. Far from deserving your gratitude, I must implore your pardon for having nearly sacrificed your life to my unfortunately warm temper and revengeful feelings; nor shall I again enjoy peace of mind till I have obtained your forgiveness, should I indeed be fortunate enough to succeed in doing so.”