‘What thing?’

‘Why, the nail!  It was I lamed the horse.’

‘I am sorry for it.  I can say nothing else.’

’You ain’t so sorry for it as I am.  Oh no; you can never be that, my Lord.  After all what does it matter to you.’

‘Very little.  I meant that I was sorry for your sake.’

’I believe you are, my Lord.  For though you could be rough you was always kind.  Now I will tell you everything, and then you can do as you please.’

’I wish to do nothing.  As far as I am concerned the matter is over.  It made me sick of horses, and I do not wish to have to think of it again.’

’Nevertheless, my Lord, I’ve got to tell it.  It was Green who put me up to it.  He did it just for the plunder.  As God is my judge it was not for the money I did it.’

‘Then it was revenge.’

’It was the devil got hold of me, my Lord.  Up to that I had always been square,—­square as a die!  I got to think that your Lordship was upsetting.  I don’t know whether your Lordship remembers, but you did put me down once or twice rather uncommon.’

‘I hope I was not unjust.’

’I don’t say you was, my Lord.  But I got a feeling on me that you wanted to get rid of me, and I all the time doing the best I could for the ’orses.  I did do the best I could up to that very morning at Doncaster.  Well;—­it was Green put me up to it.  I don’t say I was to get nothing; but it wasn’t so much more than I could have got by the ’orse winning.  And I’ve lost pretty nearly all that I did get.  Do you remember, my Lord,’—­and now the Major sank his voice to a whisper,—­’when I come up to your bedroom that morning?’

‘I remember it.’

‘The first time?’

‘Yes; I remember it.’

’Because I came twice, my Lord.  When I came first it hadn’t been done.  You turned me out.’

‘That is true, Major Tifto.’

‘You was very rough then.  Wasn’t you rough?’

‘A man’s bedroom is generally supposed to be private.’

’Yes, my Lord,—­that’s true.  I ought to have sent your man first.  I came then to confess it all, before it was done.’

‘Then why couldn’t you let the horse alone?’

’I was in their hands.  And then you was so rough with me!  So I said to myself I might as well do it,—­and I did it.’

’What do you want me to say?  As far as my forgiveness goes, you have it!’

‘That saying a great deal, my Lord,—­a great deal,’ said Tifto, now in tears.  ‘But I ain’t said it all yet.  He’s here; in London!’

‘Who’s here.’

’Green.  He’s here.  He doesn’t think I know, but I could lay my hands on him tomorrow.’

’There is no human being alive, Major Tifto, whose presence or absence could be a matter of more indifference to me.’

’I’ll tell you what I’ll do, my Lord.  I’ll go before any judge, or magistrate, or police-officer in the country, and tell the truth.  I won’t ask even for a pardon.  They shall punish me and him too.  I’m in that state of mind that any change would be for the better.  But he,—­he ought to have it heavy.’