He patted
him on his neck, spoke kindly to him, and did all in his power to atone
for his cruelty. That all was very little, however, for each step was
torture to the beast; his fore feet were nearly bleeding. This was what
Willan had done: the day before he had taken off two of the horse's
shoes, and then galloped fast over miles of rough and stony road. The
horse had borne himself gallantly, and shown no fatigue till nightfall,
when he suddenly went lame, and had grown worse in the night, so that
Willan had come very near having to lie by at an inn some leagues to the
north, where he had no mind to stay. A heavy price he was paying for the
delight of looking on Victorine's face, he began to think, as he toiled
along on foot, mile after mile, the saddle-bags on his shoulders, and
the hot sun beating down on his head; but reach the Golden Pear that day
he would, and he did,--almost as footsore as the stallion. Neither
master nor beast was wonted to rough ways.
"My horse is sadly lame," Willan said to Benoit as he came up. "He cast
two shoes yesterday, and I was forced to ride on, spite of it, for there
was no blacksmith on the road I came.
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