THE SPOTTED HORSe's STORY. 193 



somehow arrived by the morning post ; and as, 

 after making a promise of returning speedily — 

 which I had not the remotest intention of keep- 

 ing — I drove to the station, the last thing I saw 

 connected with Welwyn Grange was the Pro- 

 fessor, standing in a straw-yard, surrounded by a 

 bevy of men whose aspects bespoke their constant 

 intercourse with the horse, and their familiarity 

 with those sports in which, rather than participate, 

 I would almost consent to marry the wrong Miss 

 Lucy. 



'' That," said the Spotted Horse in con- 

 clusion, *' is my tale." 



13 



