“That’s no exhibition; that’s a runaway,” said the master grimly.  “She’s doing well too, poor girl,” and he and Theodore went on after the flying rider.  Two or three carriages, the riders staring with horror; a pedestrian or two, innocently wondering why a lady should be on the road alone; a small boy whistling shrilly; these were all the spectators of Esmeralda’s flight.  She felt desolate and deserted, and yet sure that it was best that she should be alone, since the master could overtake her if he would, and she wondered if she should be very seriously injured when thrown at last, but all the time she was talking to Ronald in a voice carefully kept at a low pitch, and her hands were held with a steadiness utterly new to them, and the good horse went on regularly, but faster and faster.

“That isn’t a real runaway,” said the master to himself.  “Ah, I see!  Her whip is down and strikes him at every stride, and so she unconsciously urges him forward.  If there were a side road here, I’d gallop around and meet her, or if there were fields on either side, I’d leap the fence and make a circuit and cut her off, but through this place, with banks like a railway cutting on each side, there is nothing to do.”

Swifter and swifter!  Esmeralda began to feel weaker, thought of Theodore, and of some other things of which she never told even him, said a little prayer, but all the time remembered her master’s injunctions, and kept her place firmly, waiting for the final, and, as she believed, inevitable crash, when lo!  She saw that just in front of her lay a long piece of half-mended road, full of ugly little stones, and she turned Ronald on it, with a triumphant, “See how you like that, sir,” and then sawed his mouth.  In half a minute he was walking.  In another the master was beside her with words of approval.  Theodore galloped up, pale and anxious, and between the two she had quite as much praise as was good for her, and, being told of the position of the whip, found her confidence in Ronald restored.

“But you should never start up hastily,” said the master.  “Take time for everything, and check your horse the instant he goes faster than you mean to have him.  You are a good girl, and you shall not be scolded, or snubbed, either,” he muttered, and the party came up, the cavalryman and the Texan loud in praise, the other four clamorous with questions and advice.

“You look quite disheveled,” said the society young lady agreeably.

“Ladies often do after they have been on the road a little while.  Excuse me, but one of your skirt buttons is unfastened,” said the master, and, not knowing how to pass her reins into her right hand so as to use her left to repair the accident, the society young lady was effectually silenced, while the master, holding Esmeralda’s horse, made her wipe her face, arrange the curly locks flying about her ears, readjust her hat, and generally smooth her plumage, until she was once more comfortable.