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 CHAPTER LII

THE BOWL ON THE BIAS

It was Sir Marmaduke's maxim, as he boasted it had been his father's and grandfather's, to sleep on a resolution before putting it in practice. He secured, therefore, a good night's rest and a substantial breakfast ere he mounted his best horse to wait upon his neighbour at Hamilton Hill, ordering the grey to be saddled, because Sir George had sometimes expressed his approval of that animal. The lord of Brentwood was sufficiently a Yorkshireman to seize the opportunity of "a deal," even while more important matters were under consideration.

"He was getting on," he meant to tell Sir George. "His nerve was beginning to fail. The grey was as good as gold, but a little too much of a horse for him now. He was scarce able to do the animal justice like a younger man."

And as this suggestion could not but be flattering to the younger man, he thought it not improbable his friend might be tempted to purchase on the spot.

So he rode the horse quietly and carefully, avoiding the high road, which would have taken him past the "Hamilton Arms," and, threading a labyrinth of bridleways through the moor, very easy to find for those who were familiar with them, but exceedingly puzzling to those who were not.

The grey looked fresh and sleek, as if just out of the stable, when Sir Marmaduke rode into the courtyard at Hamilton Hill, whence he was ushered by Slap-Jack, who had a great respect for him as a "True Blue, without any gammon," to the terrace where Sir George, her ladyship,