But presently we heard the quick beat of hoofs behind, and they went past us with a rush--Black Boy's chin drawn tight to his chest, which was splashed with white foam flecks, his neck like a bow, and the wicked white of his port eye glaring back at us like a danger signal.
"Monsieur Torode has got his hands full, I think," I said.
"And Monsieur Black Boy carries more than he likes." "I'm glad you're not on board there, Carette." "I think I am too--just now," she laughed quietly.
We took the north road at La Vauroque, where we came on George Hamon, gazing gloomily after Black Boy and his rider, who were flying along the road to Colinette, and judging from his face there was a curse on his lips as he turned to us, which was very unusual with him.

He brightened, however, when he saw us.
"B'en! That's all right," he said very heartily.

"Gray Robin is a proud horse this day, ma'm'zelle, with the prettiest maid in the Island on his back--and the best man," he added meaningly.

"I'm just hoping that crazy Frenchman will bring my Black Boy back all safe and sound.

He's got more than a bit of the devil in him at times--the horse, I mean.