horse's hurt, in the hope that it might only be the intrusion of some
pebble between the shoe and the hoof. While we were yet investigating the
cause of our misfortune, two men on horseback overtook us. Tyrrell looked
up. "By Heaven," said he, in a low tone, "it's that dog Dawson, and his
worthy coadjutor, Tom Thornton."

"What's the matter, gentlemen?" cried the bluff voice of the latter. "Can
I be of any assistance?" and without waiting our reply, he dismounted,
and came up to us. He had no sooner felt the horse's leg, than he assured
us it was a most severe strain, and that the utmost I could effect would
be to walk the brute gently home.

As Tyrrell broke out into impatient violence at this speech, the sharper
looked up at him with an expression of countenance I by no means liked;
but in a very civil, and even respectful tone, said, "If you want, Sir
John, to reach Chester Park sooner than Mr. Pelham can possibly do,
suppose you ride on with us, I will put you in the direct road before I
quit you." (Good breeding, thought I, to propose leaving me to find my
own way through this labyrinth of ruts and stones!) However, Tyrrell, who
was in a vile humour, in no very courteous manner, refused the offer, and
added that he should continue with me as long as he could, and did not
doubt that when he left me he should be able to find his own way.
Thornton pressed the invitation still closer, and even offered, sotto
voce, to send Dawson on before, should the baronet object to his company.

"Pray, Sir," said Tyrrell, "leave me alone, and busy yourself about your
own affairs." After so tart a reply, Thornton thought it useless to say
more; he remounted, and with a silent and swaggering nod of familiarity,
soon rode away with his companion.