"It happened," said the Squire, lowering his voice, "because Lawrence wanted to get rid of his life! Till the hour of my death I'll say that. Petres does nothing but reproach himself about it; but I say no man would have ridden at the fence Lawrence did, in cold blood, and with his brain unheated by wine, unless he had been tired of his life."
Upon hearing this Katharine turned and came back a step or two. In the glimmering twilight Mrs. Deering could mark that a shade one degree more livid than before had spread over her face. "Tell me about the accident, papa. I can bear it. Tell me, word for word, what happened, and then—then I will go in and see him."
"Well, you know, Kate, how you bade me ask him to dinner; I asked him; forced him to say yes—there's the folly for which I reproach myself," added the Squire, huskily—"and he came. During dinner, I don't suppose he spoke a dozen words—natural enough he should be constrained—bitter thoughts of old days—his own marriage breakfast held in that very room—overcame him, of course, and I must say received all Petres' attempts at conversation pretty curtly. At last, when the wine came in, he began to thaw—drank glass after glass, not so much like a man enjoying himself as like one resolved to bring up his spirits to a certain point, and by-and-by grew noisy, as I had never seen him in his life. H avers tock was there, and Jack Ducie, and I needn't tell you the talk soon got to horses. Every one had his story to tell of exploits, hair-breadth as all after-dinner exploits are, and at last Steven Lawrence told his. Some story of a leap, you girls won't need to hear the details of—"
"No, no, papa. Oh, go on!" interrupted Mrs. Deering, with agitation.
"A leap that he took years ago on a little mustang of his in Mexico. When the story was told, every one at the table remained silent for a moment. Then Petres turned—he was sitting next to poor Steven. 'Lawrence,' he remarked, in his solemn way, 'this really is a most astonishing fact. Would you mind repeating it again? I should wish to record how many feet this little mustang of yours covered.' 'My Lord!' cried Steven, looking round flushed and excited, 'do you mean to doubt the truth of what I say, then?' 'Not in the least, not in the least,' said Petres. 'I merely want to know, as a fact worthy of record, how many feet this little mustang of yours is said to have covered.' Well," went on the Squire, "I'll make a short story of what followed. Steven lost himself. There's the truth of it! Said he wasn't going to have his word doubted by any man; was ready to take exactly the same leap, measured, on his half-bred Irish mare, and back himself for whatever amount my Lord chose. 'But, my dear sir, I am not a betting man,' said Petres, with admirable temper. 'I am profoundly ignorant of such matters, and only imagined the leap to be an extraordinary one. If anything I said implied a disbelief in your statement, I retract it, or, rather, apologize to you at once.'"
"So like Lord Petres," murmured Mrs. Deering, in parenthesis.
"Well, you know—no, you don't know—what it is to reason with a man only half sober. 'I want no apologies,' said Steven. 'I want nothing more from any man than that he should hold to what he says. We needn't make the bet a high one, my Lord,' he added, 'if you are really so averse to backing your opinions.' To have argued with him," said the Squire, "would have been worse than to let him have his way. The hour for deciding the bet was fixed for twelve o'clock next day, Haverstock and myself as umpires; and soon afterward the party broke up. Neither I nor any one at the table expected Steven, in cold blood, would
