“Just so, just so,” answered Harry with some emphasis; “that is exactly the sentiment I would most impress upon your inexperience.  A man should live to drink the cup of life, ere it be snatched from his grasp.”

Tom nodded and passed on, not pausing to ponder upon the meaning of the words he had heard.  Indeed, he had small time to ponder, for his comrade was quickening his steps, and he had to hasten to reach his side.

“My stables lie this way.  We will go and look at the hackneys, and make choice of one fit to carry those great limbs of yours, my worthy friend.  As for me, a light-made barb will suffice; but it takes bone and muscle to carry all that bone,” and he clapped his hand upon Tom’s shoulder with a little laugh.

The stables were neither very bright nor savoury according to modern ideas, but for the times they were thought a marvel of perfection.  Tom’s eyes soon got used to the dimness, and he was quickly in a high state of rapture at the evidences of breeding and pace in the horses stabled there.

That they knew their master well was plain, for all heads were turned at the sound of his voice, and each animal gave a low whinny of pleasure at the approach of Lord Claud.  He took carrots from a basket and dispensed them with impartiality to his stud; and, meantime, he and his head groom talked together in low tones, and presently Tom was called to the conclave.

“Nell Gwynne will carry you best, Tom.  But she may give you a little trouble.  It is not every rider she will brook upon her back; yet if you can master her, she will bear you to the world’s end faithfully.”

Tom approached the mare indicated, who looked at him, laying back her ears and showing the whites of her eyes, sidling a little over in her stall with the evident intention of trying to get a kick at the stranger.  But Tom coolly walked up to her head, and began caressing her with a perfect fearlessness which presently disarmed her suspicion.  She was accustomed to see men flinch and quail before her, and despised the race accordingly.  But the few who bad no fear of her she recognized as her masters, and she gave them the love of her heart and the best of her powers.

“That will do, Tom,” said Lord Claud’s voice from behind; “you have won my lady’s capricious fancy.

“Bring up the mare and Lucifer in an hour’s time, saddled and bridled, and fed for the evening,” he added, speaking to the servant; “you will probably have them back some time tomorrow, but of that I cannot speak with certainty.”

He took Tom’s arm as he left the yard, saying in his nonchalant fashion: 

“Sometimes after one of these affairs of honour it is well to take oneself off for a while.  Her Majesty is as much against the settlement of private quarrels by the appeal to the sword as ever King William was.  However, fashion is too strong even for good Queen Anne.  But it is better not to do more than wing your man.  If you kill him, you run a risk of getting into trouble.  But I have no intention of doing so, unless he provokes me beyond endurance.”