But though he
clenched his teeth, he fettered his hands, and ruled his tongue, and
the Master of men was master still.
"My lord," he said, after one instant's thunderous silence, "there's
that i' me wad think as little o' throttlin' ye as ye du o'
ill-usin' yer puir beast. But I'm no gaein' to drop his quarrel,
an' tak up my ain: that wad be cooardly." Here he patted the
creature's neck, and recovering his composure and his English, went
on. "I tell you, my lord, the curb-chain is too tight! The animal
is suffering as you can have no conception of, or you would pity
him."
"Let him go," cried Forgue, "or I will make you."
He raised his whip again, the more enraged that the groom stood
looking on with his mouth open.
"I tell your lordship," said Donal, "it is my turn to strike; and if
you hit the animal again before that chain is slackened, I will
pitch you out of the saddle."
For answer Forgue struck the horse over the head. The same moment
he was on the ground; Donal had taken him by the leg and thrown him
off. He was not horseman enough to keep his hold of the reins, and
Donal led the horse a little way off, and left him to get up in
safety. The poor animal was pouring with sweat, shivering and
trembling, yet throwing his head back every moment. Donal could
scarcely undo the chain; it was twisted--his lordship had fastened
it himself--and sharp edges pressed his jaw at the least touch of
the rein.
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