King's sake. I was also still tingling with my King's praise. It was a warm, sunny April day; that was another thing to fill me with gladness. Soon I should be mounted on a nag, riding out in a strange land, on a secret mission, with a pocket full of special service money. Whatever I had felt in the few days of the sea-passage was all forgotten now. I did not even worry about not knowing the language. It would keep me from loitering to chatter. My school-boy French would probably be enough for all purposes if I went astray. I was "to avoid chance acquaintances, particularly if they spoke English." That was my last order. Repeating it to myself I walked on briskly.
I had not gone more than three hundred yards upon my way, when a lady, very richly dressed, cantered slowly past me on a fine bay mare. She was followed by a gentleman in scarlet, riding on a little black Arab. They had not gone a hundred yards past me when the Arab picked up a stone. The man dismounted to pick it out, while the lady rode back to hold the horse, which was a ticklish job, since he was as fresh as a colt. He went squirming about like an eel. The man had no hook to pick the stone with; nor could he get it out by his fingers. I could hear him growling under his breath in some strange language, while the horse sidled about as wicked as he could be.
As I approached, the horse grew so troublesome that the man decided to take him back to the town, to have the stone pulled there. He was just starting to lead him back when I came up with them. He asked me some question in a tongue which I did not know. He probably asked me if I had a hook. I shook my head. The lady said something to him in French, which made him laugh. Then he began to lead back the horse towards the town. The lady, after waving her hand to him, started to ride slowly forward in front of me. Like most ladies at that time she wore a little black velvet domino mask over her eyes. All people could ride in those days; but I remember it occurred to me that this lady rode beautifully. So many women look like meal-sacks in the saddle. This one rode as though she were a part of the horse.
She kept about twenty yards ahead of me till I sighted the inn, where an ostler was walking the little nag which I was to ride. She halted at the inn-door, looking back towards the town for her companion. Then, without calling to anybody, she dismounted, flinging her mare's reins over a hook in the wall. She went into the inn boldly, drawing her whip through her left hand. When I entered the inn-door a moment later, she was talking in Dutch to the landlord, who was bowing to her as though she were a great lady. I handed over my bottle-basket, with the letter, to a woman who served the customers at the drinking bar. Then, as I was going out to take my horse, the lady spoke to me in broken English.
"Walk my horse, so he not take cold," she said.
It was in the twilight of the passage from the door, so that I could not see her very clearly, but the voice was certainly like the voice of the woman who had fired at me in the courtyard. Or was I right? That voice was on my nerves. It seemed to be the voice of all the strangers in the town. I looked up at her quickly. She was masked; yet the grey eyes seemed to gleam beyond the velvet, much as that woman's eyes had gleamed. Her mouth; her chin; the general poise of her body, all convinced me. She was the woman who had carried away the book from Longshore Jack. I was quite sure of it. I pretended not to understand her. I dropped my eyes, without stopping; she flicked me lightly with her whip to draw my attention.
"Walk my horse," she said again, with a little petulance in her voice. I saw no way out of it. If I refused, she would guess (if she did not know already) that I was not there only for bottles of gin. "Oui, mademoiselle," I said. "Oui. Merci." So out I went to where the mare stood. She followed me to the door to see me take the mare. There was no escape; she was
I had not gone more than three hundred yards upon my way, when a lady, very richly dressed, cantered slowly past me on a fine bay mare. She was followed by a gentleman in scarlet, riding on a little black Arab. They had not gone a hundred yards past me when the Arab picked up a stone. The man dismounted to pick it out, while the lady rode back to hold the horse, which was a ticklish job, since he was as fresh as a colt. He went squirming about like an eel. The man had no hook to pick the stone with; nor could he get it out by his fingers. I could hear him growling under his breath in some strange language, while the horse sidled about as wicked as he could be.
As I approached, the horse grew so troublesome that the man decided to take him back to the town, to have the stone pulled there. He was just starting to lead him back when I came up with them. He asked me some question in a tongue which I did not know. He probably asked me if I had a hook. I shook my head. The lady said something to him in French, which made him laugh. Then he began to lead back the horse towards the town. The lady, after waving her hand to him, started to ride slowly forward in front of me. Like most ladies at that time she wore a little black velvet domino mask over her eyes. All people could ride in those days; but I remember it occurred to me that this lady rode beautifully. So many women look like meal-sacks in the saddle. This one rode as though she were a part of the horse.
She kept about twenty yards ahead of me till I sighted the inn, where an ostler was walking the little nag which I was to ride. She halted at the inn-door, looking back towards the town for her companion. Then, without calling to anybody, she dismounted, flinging her mare's reins over a hook in the wall. She went into the inn boldly, drawing her whip through her left hand. When I entered the inn-door a moment later, she was talking in Dutch to the landlord, who was bowing to her as though she were a great lady. I handed over my bottle-basket, with the letter, to a woman who served the customers at the drinking bar. Then, as I was going out to take my horse, the lady spoke to me in broken English.
"Walk my horse, so he not take cold," she said.
It was in the twilight of the passage from the door, so that I could not see her very clearly, but the voice was certainly like the voice of the woman who had fired at me in the courtyard. Or was I right? That voice was on my nerves. It seemed to be the voice of all the strangers in the town. I looked up at her quickly. She was masked; yet the grey eyes seemed to gleam beyond the velvet, much as that woman's eyes had gleamed. Her mouth; her chin; the general poise of her body, all convinced me. She was the woman who had carried away the book from Longshore Jack. I was quite sure of it. I pretended not to understand her. I dropped my eyes, without stopping; she flicked me lightly with her whip to draw my attention.
"Walk my horse," she said again, with a little petulance in her voice. I saw no way out of it. If I refused, she would guess (if she did not know already) that I was not there only for bottles of gin. "Oui, mademoiselle," I said. "Oui. Merci." So out I went to where the mare stood. She followed me to the door to see me take the mare. There was no escape; she was
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