Warren Courtly was ridiculously jealous of the horse. He would have scouted the idea that this feeling was engendered because Random had been Ulick Maynard's favourite horse, and yet Irene knew such to be the case. On more than one occasion he had suggested Random should be sold, or the Squire persuaded to make an exchange for him. His excuse was that the horse was not safe for a lady to ride, too much of a puller, and so on. Irene remained firm, and declined to entertain any ideas suggesting a parting with her favourite.

"You seem to care more for the horse than you do for me," he said, angrily.

She laughed, and said he must have a very poor opinion of himself if he thought she preferred Random.

"Mr. Maynard was kind enough to give him to me, and I mean to keep him.

Don't let us quarrel about such a trifle. You would not like it if I asked you to give up your favourite hunter for a mere whim of mine."

"Has Warren become reconciled to Random?" asked the Squire. "I cannot understand his antipathy to the horse. Of course, he is anxious you should not run into danger, but Random is a very safe horse to ride--a more perfect fencer I have seldom seen."

"Warren has his likes and dislikes, and when he makes up his mind he seldom gives in. Random seems to have been his pet aversion ever since you gave him to me, and I do not think even now he would be at all sorry if he met with an accident, provided I came off scot free," laughed Irene.

"It is ridiculous. I begin to think I urged you to marry a monument of selfishness; I hope you will forgive me."

"You require no forgiveness. You provided me with a suitable husband and a good home. Warren is kind to me, and I have everything my own way. He is not a demonstrative man, but I feel sure he loves me, and he is not responsible for his restless disposition--that is inherited."

"And do you love him, Irene?" he asked.

She momentarily hesitated, and then said--

"Yes, I love him. We seem to understand each other now, although at first there was some restraint between us. I think we are quite as happy as the majority of married couples."

He was only half satisfied with her answer, but did not pursue the subject further.

"Is the painting of Random finished?" he asked.

"Yes, but not framed."

"May I send Bob over for it?"

"I will ride over myself if you will give me a mount," she said.

"The roads are very bad, will it be safe?"

"The horse can be 'roughed,' and I shall enjoy a ride in the keen morning air, it will brace me up."

"Very well, Irene. I will order Rupert to be saddled, he is the safest conveyance you can have in this weather."

CHAPTER IV.

IRENE'S PAINTING.

Irene mounted Rupert, and the Squire stood on the steps in front of the hall-door admiring the picture. The horse was a dark brown, nearly black, and stood out prominently against the snowy background. It was a sharp, crisp morning, the atmosphere clear, with a touch of frost in the air, and the sun shone brightly, the snow quivering in the light, glittering like myriads of crystals.

Rupert pawed the gravel in his eagerness to be going, and the Squire remarked, as he shook hands with Irene--

"You must come back as soon as you can. If you find the picture too c.u.mbersome to carry leave it and we will send Bob for it."

"I can strap it on my back, I have a case made for the purpose. I often ride out with my sketching materials strapped on. You would take me for a tramp if you saw me walking about in my artist's costume," said Irene, laughing.

"A remarkably pretty tramp," said the Squire.

"Thanks, I will turn that compliment over in my mind as I ride to the Manor; it will be pleasant company for me."

Rupert set off at a brisk trot. He was at all times a sure-footed horse, and being roughed he had no difficulty in keeping his feet.

Irene's colour rose as the sharp breeze fanned her cheeks, and she was thoroughly enjoying her ride.

She went past the stud farm, and came across Eli Todd, who had been going his rounds.

Next to his runaway daughter, Janet, Eli Todd was devoted to Irene. He had known her from a child, had taught her to ride, and was proud of her accomplishment. He stood admiring her as she rode up.

"Good-morning, Eli; how are all your pets? I expect this weather does not suit some of them, but, of course, you have no foals yet?" said Irene.

"Everything is going on well," he replied; "but I am a bit anxious about old Honeysuckle."

"She must be getting on for twenty?" said Irene.

"Not far off that, Mrs. Courtly; in fact, I feel sure she is twenty, only it would not do to tell the Squire so, because he vows she is only eighteen, he won't hear of her being more," replied Eli, smiling.

"There is not much difference between eighteen and twenty; but why are you anxious about Honeysuckle, is there anything seriously amiss with her? I am going through Helton, and can ask Bard to call."

James Bard was the well-known county vet., and he lived at the little village of Helton, giving as his reason, "I prefer Helton; if I had my residence in the county town, people would be always demanding my services for all kinds of frivolous cases; it is a far way to Helton, and when they take the trouble to come for me I know the case is worth going to."

"No, thank you," replied Eli. "It is not necessary for Jim Bard to be called in, and I hope it will not be."

"Then what is it?" asked Irene.

"The old mare is very heavy in foal, and I'm mightily afraid the youngster will come into the world before the first of January, and there's no need to tell you that would be a misfortune," replied Eli.

"If he was born on December 31st it would mean he would be a year old on January 1st," said Irene, smiling.

"That's just it, and look what a disadvantage he would be at all his life. I may be wrong, but I a.s.sure you I am having a very anxious time."

"Have you told Mr. Maynard?"

"No, and please say nothing about it to him. He would only worry, and be constantly backwards and forwards between the house and the stables. You know how fond he is of the old mare."

"Honeysuckle is one of his great favourites, and no wonder; it is a good many years since she won the Oaks and the St. Leger for him. That is a fine painting he has of her in his study. I am afraid my poor effort will look very paltry beside it."

"Have you taken to painting horses?" asked Eli. He believed Irene capable of doing almost anything she put her hand to.

"I have tried to paint Random, and I am riding over to the Manor for the painting, as the Squire is anxious to see it."

"He'll make a grand picture; he's a fine subject to work on. There are not many hunters like him in the county. He was Mr. Ulick's favourite, and I was precious glad when you got him, for I was very much afraid the Squire would have sold him."