He was not tall, but he had the free pose of an athlete and the bearing of a prince.
Suddenly he glanced down at his cringing companion and broke into a laugh.

"Get up, Caesar, you fool! And think yourself lucky that you've got any sound bones left! You'd have been reduced to a jelly by this time if I'd had my way." He bent with careless good-nature, and patted the miscreant; then turned towards his horse.
"Poor old Pompey! A shame to keep you standing! All that brute's fault." He swung himself into the saddle.

"By Jove, though, she's got some pluck!" he said.

"I like a woman with pluck!" He touched his animal with the spur, and in a moment they were speeding through the gathering dark at a brisk canter.

Pompey was as anxious to get home as was his master, and he needed no second urging.