the world’s.  He shied slap into the hedge and stuck there—­alone; for, his rider swaying violently the reverse way, the girths burst, the saddle peeled off the pony’s back, and David sat griping the pommel of the saddle in the middle of the road at Eve’s feet, looking up in her face with an uneasy grin, while dust rose around him in a little column.  Eve screeched, and screeched, and screeched; then fell to, with a face as red as a turkey-cock’s, and beat David furiously, and hurt—­her little hands.

David laughed.  This incident did him good—­shook him up a bit.  The pony groveled out of the ditch and cantered home, squeaking at intervals and throwing his heels.

David got up, hoisted the side saddle on to his square shoulders, and, keeping it there by holding the girths, walked with Eve toward Font Abbey.  She was now a little ashamed of her apprehensions; and, besides, when she leathered David, she was, in her own mind, serving him out for both frights.  At all events, she did not scold him, but kindly inquired his adventures, and he told her what he had done and said, and what Miss Fountain had said.

The account disappointed Eve.  “All this is just a pack of nothing,” said she.  “It is two lovers parting, or it is two common friendly acquaintances; all depends on how it was done, and that you don’t tell me.”  Then she put several subtle questions as to the looks, and tones and manner of the young lady.  David could not answer them.  On this she informed him he was a fool.

“So I begin to think,” said he.

“There! be quiet,” said she, “and let me think it over.”

“Ay! ay!” said he.

While he was being quiet and letting her think a carriage came rapidly up behind them, with a horseman riding beside it; and, as the pedestrians drew aside, an ironical voice fell upon them, and the carriage and horseman stopped, and floured, them with dust.

Messrs. Talboys and Fountain took a stroll to look at the new jail that was building in Royston, and, as they returned, Talboys, whose wounded pride had now fermented, told Mr. Fountain plainly that he saw nothing for it but to withdraw his pretensions to Miss Fountain.

“My own feelings are not sufficiently engaged for me to play the up-hill game of overcoming her disinclination.”

“Disinclination?  The mere shyness of a modest girl.  If she was to be ‘won unsought,’ she would not be worthy to be Mrs. Talboys.”

“Her worth is indisputable,” said Mr. Talboys, “but that is no reason why I should force upon her my humble claims.”

The moment his friend’s pride began to ape humility, Fountain saw the wound it had received was incurable.  He sighed and was silent.  Opposition would only have set fire to opposition.

They went home together in silence.  On the road Talboys caught sight of a tall gentleman carrying a side-saddle, and a little lady walking beside him.  He recognized his bete noir with a grim smile.  Here at least was one he had defeated and banished from the fair.  What on earth was the man doing?  Oh, he had been giving his sister a ride on a donkey, and they had met with an accident.  Mr. Talboys was in a humor for revenge, so he pulled up, and in a somewhat bantering voice inquired where was the steed.