"A written confession--and she brought it to you?"
"Galloped all the way from Tonbridge, by Gad!" nodded Sir
Richard.
"It seems," pursued Mr. Grainger, "that the--ah man, John
Strickland, by name, lodged with a certain preacher, to whom, in
Lady Vibart's presence, he confessed his crime, and willingly
wrote out a deposition to that effect. It also appears that the
man, sick though he was, wandered from the Preacher's cottage,
and was eventually found upon the road, and now lies in Maidstone
gaol, in a dying condition."
Chancing, presently, to look from the window, I beheld a groom
who led a horse up and down before the door; and the groom was
Adam, and the horse-I opened the window, and, leaning out, called a name. At the
sound of my voice the man smiled and touched his hat, and the
mare ceased her pawing and chafing, and turned upon me a pair of
great, soft eyes, and snuffed the air, and whinnied. So I leapt
out of the window, and down the steps, and thus it was that I met
"Wings."
"She be in the pink o' condition, sir," said Adam proudly; "Sir
Richard bought 'er--"
"For a song!" added the baronet, who, with Mr. Grainger, had
followed to bid me good-by. "I really got her remarkably cheap,"
he explained, thrusting his fists deep into his pockets, and
frowning down my thanks. But, when I had swung myself into the
saddle, he came and laid his hand upon my knee.
"You are going to--find her, Peter?"
"Yes, sir."
"And you know--where to look?"
"I think so--"
"Because, if you don't--I might--"
"I shall go to a certain cottage," said I tentatively.
"Then you'd better go, boy--the mare's all excitement--good-by,
Peter--and cutting up my gravel most damnably--good-by!" So
saying, he reached up and gripped my hand very hard, and stared
at me also very hard, though the tears stood in his eyes. "I
always felt very fatherly towards you, Peter--and--you won't
forget the lonely old man--come and see me now and then both of
you, for it does get damnably lonely here sometimes, and oh,
curse it! Goodby! dear lad." So he turned, and walked up the
steps into his great, lonely house.
"O Wings! with thy slender grace, and tireless strength, if ever
thou didst gallop before, do thy best to-day! Spurn, spurn the
dust 'neath thy fleet hoofs, stretch thy graceful Arab neck, bear
me gallantly to-day, O Wings, for never shalt thou and I see its
like again."