a railway station two miles from the Court, but Belward had had enough of
railways. He had brought his own horse Saracen, and Jacques's broncho
also, at foolish expense, across the sea, and at a hotel near Euston
Station master and man mounted and set forth, having seen their worldly
goods bestowed by staring porters, to go on by rail.

In murky London they attracted little notice; but when their hired guide
left them at the outskirts, and they got away upon the highway towards
the Court, cottagers stood gaping. For, outside the town there was no
fog, and the fresh autumn air drew the people abroad.

"What is it makes 'em stare, Jacques?" asked Belward, with a humorous
sidelong glance.

Jacques looked seriously at the bright pommel of his master's saddle and
the shining stirrups and spurs, dug a heel into the tender skin of his
broncho, and replied:

"Too much silver all at once."

He tossed his curling black hair, showing up the gold rings in his ears,
and flicked the red-and-gold tassels of his boots.

"You think that's it, eh?" rejoined Belward, as he tossed a shilling to
a beggar.

"Maybe, too, your great Saracen to this tot of a broncho, and the grand
homme to little Jacques Brillon." Jacques was tired and testy.

The other laid his whip softly on the half-breed's shoulder.