“Come. come, Arden,” said Wilton, seeing that he was likely to have a lukewarm companion where a very ardent and energetic one was much wanted, “you must exert yourself now as usual, and I am sure you will do so.  Let us get to our horses as fast as possible.”

Wilton tried to soothe the Messenger out of his ill-humour as they rode along, but he did not succeed in any great degree.  The man remained sullen; being one of those who like, when clothed with a little brief authority, to rule all around them rather than be directed by any.  So long as he had conducted the search himself, it had been pleasant enough to him to have one of the minister’s secretaries with him, following his suggestions, listening to his advice, and showing deference to his experience; but when the young gentleman took the business into his own hands, conducted the whole proceedings, and did not make him acquainted even with all the particulars, his vanity was mortified, and he resolved to assist as little as possible, though he could not refuse to act according to the directions which he received.  This determination was so evident, that, before they had reached Gravesend, Wilton felt cause to regret that he had not put his threat in execution, and sent for another messenger.  His companion’s horse must needs be spared, though he was strong, quick, and needed nothing but the spur; he must be fed here, he must be watered there; and the young gentleman began to fear that delays which were evidently made on purpose, might cause them to be late ere they arrived at the place of their destination.  He had remarked, however, that the Messenger was somewhat proud of the beast that carried him, and he thought it in no degree wrong to make use of a stratagem in order to hurry his follower’s pace.

After looking at the horse for some time with a marking and critical eye, he said, “That is a fine, powerful horse of yours, Mr. Arden.  It is a pity he’s so heavy in the shoulder.”

“Heavy in the shoulder, Mr. Brown!” said Arden—­“I don’t think he can be called that, sir, any how; for a really strong, serviceable horse, he’s as free in the shoulder as any horse in England.”

“I did not exactly mean,” replied Wilton, “to say that he was heavy; I only meant that he could not be a speedy horse with that shoulder.”

“I don’t know that, sir; I can’t say that,” replied the Messenger, evidently much piqued:  “you reckon your horse a swift horse, I should think, Mr. Brown, and yet I’ll bet you money, that at any pace you like, for a couple of miles, mine wont be a yard behind.”

“Oh, trotting will do, trotting will do,” replied Wilton—­“there’s no such made horse as mine in England.  Let him once get to his full pace, and he will out-trot any horse I ever saw.”

“Well, sir,” replied his companion, “let us put to our spurs and see.”