'What do you mean?' said Godfrey, hastily.
'Why, hasn't he been home yet?' said Bryce.
'Home? no. What has happened? Be quick. What has he done with my horse?'
'Ah, I thought it was yours, though he pretended you had parted with it to him.'
'Has he thrown him down and broken his knees?' said Godfrey, flushed with exasperation.
'Worse than that,' said Bryce. 'You see, I'd made a bargain with him to buy the horse for a hundred and twenty—a swinging price, but I always liked the horse. And what does he do but go and stake him—fly at a hedge with stakes in it, atop of a bank with a ditch before it. The horse had been dead a pretty good while when he was found. So he hasn't been home since, has he?'
'Home? no,' said Godfrey, 'and he'd better keep away. Confound me for a fool! I might have known this would be the end of it.'
'Well, to tell you the truth,' said Bryce, 'after I'd bargained for the horse, it did come into my head that he might be riding and selling the horse without your knowledge, for I didn't believe it was his own. I knew Master Dunsey was up to his tricks sometimes. But where can he be gone? He's never been seen at Batherley. He couldn't have been hurt, for he must have walked off.'
'Hurt,' said Godfrey, bitterly. ' He'll never be hurt—he's made to hurt other people.'
'And so you did give him leave to sell the horse, eh?' said Bryce.
