“If it was mountains and pressy-pices that was in it itself,” returned John Kearney, severely, “I’d say the same, Michael Donovan.  Miss Christian knows me, and I’m telling her—­”

At this point, however, Christian’s attention was absorbed by Dido, who was comporting herself with precocious zeal, and, an instant after, the dispute was ended by the shriek with which she proclaimed her success.  For some fifteen minutes the hounds ran hard and fast; Nancy began to settle down, and to realise that her adopted parent invariably changed feet on a bank, and never jumped stones as if he were a cork bursting perpendicularly from a bottle of champagne.  The fox was taking them through the best of the Broadwater Vale country; pasture-field followed pasture-field, in suave succession, the banks were broad and benevolent, the going clean and firm.  The sun had just risen, and was throwing the long blue shadows of the hedge-row trees on the dew-grey grass.  The river valley was full of silver mists, changing and thinning, like the visions of a clairvoyant, yielding slowly the beauty of the river, and of its garlanding trees, to those who had eyes to see.  The sky became bluer each instant as the sun rushed up, and Bill Kirby said to himself that the hunt was too good to last, and the scent would soon be scorched out.

Not long afterwards came the check.  The fox had run through a strip of plantation, and in the succeeding field the scent failed.  It was a wide pasture-field, in which a number of young cattle were running, snorting, bellowing, and gathering themselves into defensive groups at the unwonted sight of hounds.

“That’s a nice little plan of a mare!” said the young farmer who had helped Larry with the hounds, drawing up beside Christian, “and you have her in grand condition, Miss; she’s as round as a bottle!  She has a great jump in her!” he went on.  “She fled the last fence entirely; she didn’t leave an iron on it!  She was hopping off the ground like a ball!”

“That was no credit to her!” said John Kearney, eyeing the mare and her rider gloomily.

“’Twas a sweet gallop altogether,” said Nancy’s former owner, addressing Christian, and ignoring Mr. Kearney’s challenge, “and the mare carried you to fortune!  But sure it’d be as good for you to take her home now, Miss Christian, she has enough done.  The fences from this out aren’t too good at all.”  He cast a glance at Kearney.

“Faith, and that’s true for you,” said Kearney quickly, “Be said by us now, Miss Christian, and go home.  The road isn’t but two fields back.  The hounds’ll do no more good, sure the sun’s too strong.”

“Where are we?” broke in Larry, joining the group; “I’ve lost my bearings.”

“Them’s the Carmodys’ bounds, sir,” said Michael Donovan in a colourless voice, indicating the next fence.

“Carmody’s?” said Larry.  “Then isn’t the Derrylugga gorse somewhere hereabouts?  I see he’s casting them ahead.”