"I ought to curtsy," said Nell, laughing softly. "But one can't curtsy
on a horse, alas! Please let me off with a bow," and she bent low in the
saddle, with all a girl's pretty irony. "But don't be sparing of those
same hints, please. I really want to learn, and I will be very humble
and meek."

He laughed, as if amused by something.

"I can scarcely fancy you either humble or meek, Miss Nell," he said.
"Hold the reins a little nearer her neck. Like this. See? Then you've
room to pull her if she stumbles; which, by the way, isn't likely. And
you might sit a little closer at the canter. Don't trouble; leave the
pace to the horse."

Nell nodded.

"I know!" she said. "How just being told a thing helps one! I should
like to ride as well as you do. You and the horse seem one."

He was not embarrassed by the compliment.

"Oh, I've ridden all my life," he said, "and under all sorts of
circumstances, on all sorts of horses, and one gets au fait in time.
Now, let her have her head and we'll try a gallop. Don't bear too hard
on her if she pulls--as she may--but ride her on the snaffle as much as
possible."

They had climbed the hill, and were riding along a road on the edge of
one of the small moors, and after a moment or two of inspection of the
graceful figure beside him, he motioned with his hand, and they turned
on to the moor itself.