The procession now scarcely moved, and there was a space between the last
elephant and the great coal-black horse that followed--a wide, solemn
space, that invited you to realize that this was the finest sight you had
ever seen in your life. He was indeed a splendid, terrifying creature.
As Rufus Cosgrave said loudly, he was not like a human horse at all. One
could imagine him having just burst out of hell, still breathing fire and
smoke and rolling his eyes in the anguish of his bridled wickedness. In
the glare from the tent-door he gleamed darkly, a wild thing of black
flames, and those in the front row of the crowd trod nervously on the toes
of those behind, edging out of reach of his restless, dancing hoofs. For
it seemed impossible that the woman in the saddle should be really his
master. And yet she sat upright and unconcerned. In its black,
close-fitting habit, her supple body looked a living, vital part of the
splendid beast. She was his brain, stronger than his savage instinct, and
every threatening move of his great limbs was dictated to him without a
sound, almost without a gesture. A touch of a slender, patent-leather
boot set him prancing, an imperceptible twist of the wrist and he stood
stock still, foam-necked and helpless. It was a proud--an awe-inspiring
spectacle. And it was not only her fearless strength. She was fair and
beautiful. So Robert saw her. He saw nothing else. He gazed and gazed,
heart-stricken.
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