The Villain-Worshipper
vulsed with a premonition as to who was coming; his heart palpitated as even his heart had never done before; and yet he would have sat irresolute, inert, and let the man pass as he always let the coach, had the decision been left to him. The real milk-white mare affected the imitation in its turn as the coach-horses never had; and Oswald swayed and swam upon a whinnying steed.…
"I thought you were Stingaree!"
The anti-climax was as profound as the weakling's relief. Yet there was a strong dash of indignation in his tone.
"What if I am?"
"But you're not. You're not half smart enough. You can't tell me anything about Stingaree!"
He put his eye-glass up with an air.
Stingaree put up his.
"You young fool!" said he.
The thoroughbred mare, the eye-glass, a peeping pistol, were all superfluous evidence. There was the far more unmistakable authority of voice and eye and bearing. Yet the voice at least was somehow familiar to the ear of Oswald, who stuttered as much when he was able.
"I must have heard it before, or have I dreamt it? I've thought a good deal about you, you know!"
231
