“He won’t stir--he knows better,” Arthur said, as he steadied himself against a strong ash sapling that jutted out from the bank. “Steady, will you!” to the animal, who was picking out the tender blades of grass for his own especial eating from among the ground-ivy, the delicate cranesbill, and the wild violets with which the pretty rural fence was lined. “He knows this road, and so do I, of old. Jack was my father’s cob, Mrs. Beacham--one of _your_ father-in-law’s breeding, and he used always to come this way to the Paddocks.” It was a pretty way--the prettiest, Honor thought and said--from the Castle; not that she had ever been the whole road--far from it, she said. It was a beautiful way, people told her, all through, but she had never been nearer to the Castle in her life than the end of Pender’s-lane. John did promise to take her farther when he had the time, and she was going to learn to ride, and horses were allowed in many places inside the Chace where a carriage wasn’t, so John said, and if so, why she might some day see, without giving trouble, she added meekly, a little of the beautiful place of which she had heard so much. Arthur professed himself delighted to think that he could afford the wife of his old friend pleasure in any way; mentally regretting that, owing to his insecure footing on old Jack’s saddle, he could not be quite as delightful as he wished, or as the occasion deserved. “It will be awfully jolly to have you on horseback,” he said, “and Beacham will mount you in something like style.” “O yes,” Honor said eagerly, “there is a chestnut--such a beauty! John calls her Lady Meg--that he is breaking for me; not a pony--quite a tall horse; and--O Mr. Vavasour, I told you so! Have your hurt yourself?” She was answered by a laugh from below, and by the cheerily-spoken words, “All right!” as Arthur, who had suddenly, and _nolens volens_, found himself reseated in his saddle, rode away. Once more left to the companionship of her own thoughts, Honor began to think how foolish it had all been; and then came the speculation as to how Mrs. Beacham would take the news (for it seemed a very important event to simple-minded Honor) of Mr. Vavasour’s escapade. If Honor had not been afraid of her stepmother (which she was), it would all have been plain-sailing enough. It had been a purely accidental meeting--no harm had been intended--and certainly Honor could not be called to account for the foolish risking of Mr. Vavasour’s bones. All this, and more, the perplexed and tired girl repeated to herself as she walked slowly on towards the house, thinking how best to tell the little story which was already assuming in her eyes the features of an “event.”