"Nay, sir," said he, shaking his head. "I have but one horse here besides your own, and that is not mine." "I need it only for a day," I urged eagerly; "for less than a day. I could reach Bristol in the morning, and would send it you back forthwith." I plunged my hand into my fob, and pulled out a handful of money as I spoke. "It is no use," he declared. "The horse is not mine. 'Twas left here for a purpose, and I may not part with it." "It would be with you again to-morrow," I repeated. "It may be needed in the meanwhile," said he. "It may be needed in an hour. I know not." I let the coins run from my right hand into the palm of my left, so that they fell clinking one on the top of the other. For a second he stood undecided; then he spoke in a low voice like a man arguing with himself. "I will not do it. The horse was left with me in trust--in trust. Moreover, I was well paid for the trust." And he turned to me. "Put up your money, sir," said he stubbornly. "You should think shame to tempt poor folk. You will get no horse 'twixt here and Hungerford." I slipped the money back into my pocket while he moved away with the horse. It limped worse than ever, and he stopped and picked up its foreleg. "It is no more than a strain, I think," he called out. "The wife shall make a poultice for it to-night, and you can start betimes in the morning." It was a poor consolation, but the only one. So I made the best of it, and, taking my supper in the kitchen, went forthwith to bed. I was indeed so spent and tired that I fell asleep in the corner by the fire while my ham was being fried, and after it, was almost carried upstairs in the arms of my landlord. I had not lain in a bed since I left Leyden, and few sights, I think, have ever affected me with so pleasant a sense of rest and comfort as that of the little inn-chamber, with its white dimity curtains and lavender-scented sheets. I have, in truth, always loved the scent of lavender since. The next morning I was early afoot, and, despatching a hasty breakfast, made my way to the stables. The innkeeper had preceded me in order to have all ready for my start; but he stood in the yard with the horse unsaddled. "'Tis no use, sir," he said. "You must e'en walk to Hungerford." I had but to see the horse take one step to realise the truth of his words, for it limped yet worse than the evening before. The foot, moreover, was exceeding hot and inflamed. "Take it back," said I. "The poor beast must bide here till I return." I followed him into the stable, and inquired of the road. "You go straight," he said, "till you come to Barton Court, opposite the village of Kintbury--" when of a sudden I stopped him. There were but two stalls in the building, and I had just caught a glimpse of the horse which was tied up in the second. It was of a light chestnut in colour, with white stockings, and a fleck of white in its coat at the joint of the hip. The patch was like a star in shape, and very unusual.