He covered his ears with his hands. "Blasphemy! Blasphemy! Don't utter
it!"
In another moment he was cowering on his knees before me.
"You, of all men, mustn't blaspheme. You whom I love like my master.
You whom the divine lady loves. I can't bear it!" He continued to gibber
unintelligibly.
He was stark mad. There was no question of it. For a moment I
stood irresolute. Then I lifted him to his feet and patted his head
soothingly.
"Never mind," said I. "I was wrong. It was a beautiful horse. There
never was such a horse in the world. If I had a picture of him I would
hang it up on the wall over my bed."
"Would you?" he cried joyfully. "Then I will give you one."
He trotted over to the bundle of papers that reposed in his hat on
the floor, searched through them, and to my dismay handed me a faded,
unmounted, and rather torn and crumpled photograph of the wonderful
horse.
"There!" said he.
"I could not rob you of it," I protested.
"It will be my joy to know that you have it--that it is hanging over
your bed.
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