Mr. Sawyer, following close in his wake, devoutly hoped it was so; but had little leisure for considering the subject, inasmuch as his energies were completely engrossed by the delicate task of gammoning The Dandy that he didn’t want to pull at him. He knew too well, by the way his little horse’s ears were laid back, that he was fully prepared, and only sought an excuse, to come with a rush at the shortest possible notice. They went on pleasantly enough for a mile or so, the Honourable leading, and commencing a variety of courteous remarks to his follower, which invariably broke off in the middle. At last, the former pulled up with an air of uncertainty. “Very odd,” he said; “often as I’ve come this way before, I never remember the gate locked.” He had put his whip confidently under the latch, and his horse’s chest against the top, without the slightest effect. “’Pon my soul, it seems rather absurd, but I do believe _we’ve_ lost our way.” “_We_,” thought Mr. Sawyer; “and this fiend in top-boots laughs as if it were a joke!” but he only said aloud, “I shall get down and take it off its hinges.” The Honourable’s reply was simple and conclusive. He pointed to the upper hinge, craftily turned downwards, so as effectually to prevent all tampering with it, and observed in a tone of melancholy apology, “The fence seems _rather_ a bad one” (it was an “oxer,” about seven feet high, and impervious to a bird!). “Do you think your horse could get over the gate after mine? This is only a five-year-old, and very likely to break it,” he added, with the manner of a nurse tempting a child to take its dose. I have said Mr. Sawyer was a brave man, and so he was; but I am bound to confess the proposition startled him not a little. Put yourself in his place, courteous reader, and say whether a foggy morning, an uninhabited country, and the necessity of riding a horse barely fourteen-two over a gate more than four feet high, after a languid desperado in pursuit of an uncertainty, was not a somewhat alarming contingency. Nevertheless, there was nothing else for it. The Honourable turned his horse round, took him in a grasp of iron, and put him rather slowly at the gate, which the animal, a well-bred, raking-looking chestnut, with a long bang-tail, got over exceedingly badly, striking the top bar with fore and hind legs; but neither disturbing the Honourable Crasher’s seat nor the imperturbability of his demeanour in the slightest degree. He looked back, however, to see his companion come, and even condescended to express a feeble approval of his performance, without removing the cigar from his mouth.