“Well, it may be nonsense,” continued Frank; “but when I see a man riding right through the hounds, and they hunting, I call that crossing them.”

“Hoicks! tally”—­hollowed some one—­“there’s Graceful has it again—­well done, Granger!  Faith, Frank, that’s a good dog! if he’s not first, he’s always second.”

“Now, gentlemen, steady, for heaven’s sake.  Do let the dogs settle to their work before you’re a-top of them.  Upon my soul, Nicholas Brown, it’s ridiculous to see you!”

“It’d be a good thing if he were half as much in a hurry to get to heaven,” said Bingham Blake.

“Thank’ee,” said Nicholas; “go to heaven yourself.  I’m well enough where I am.”

And now they were off again.  In the next field the whole pack caught a view of the fox just as he was stealing out; and after him they went, with their noses well above the ground, their voices loud and clear, and in one bevy.

Away they went:  the game was strong; the scent was good; the ground was soft, but not too soft; and a magnificent hunt they had; but there were some misfortunes shortly after getting away.  Barry Lynch, wishing, in his ignorance, to lead and show himself off, and not knowing how—­scurrying along among the dogs, and bothered at every leap, had given great offence to Lord Ballindine.  But, not wishing to speak severely to a man whom he would not under any circumstances address in a friendly way, he talked at him, and endeavoured to bring him to order by blowing up others in his hearing.  But this was thrown away on Barry, and he continued his career in a most disgusting manner; scrambling through gaps together with the dogs, crossing other men without the slightest reserve, annoying every one, and evidently pluming himself on his performance.  Frank’s brow was getting blacker and blacker.  Jerry Blake and young Brown were greatly amusing themselves at the exhibition, and every now and then gave him a word or two of encouragement, praising his mare, telling how well he got over that last fence, and bidding him mind and keep well forward.  This was all new to Barry, and he really began to feel himself in his element;—­if it hadn’t been for those abominable walls, he would have enjoyed himself.  But this was too good to last, and before very long he made a faux pas, which brought down on him in a torrent the bottled-up wrath of the viscount.

They had been galloping across a large, unbroken sheep-walk, which exactly suited Barry’s taste, and he had got well forward towards the hounds.  Frank was behind, expostulating with Jerry Blake and the others for encouraging him, when the dogs came to a small stone wall about two feet and a half high.  In this there was a broken gap, through which many of them crept.  Barry also saw this happy escape from the grand difficulty of jumping, and, ignorant that if he rode the gap at all, he should let the hounds go first, made for it right among them, in spite of Frank’s voice, now raised loudly to caution him.  The horse the man rode knew his business better than himself, and tried to spare the dogs which were under his feet; but, in getting out, he made a slight spring, and came down on the haunches of a favourite young hound called “Goneaway”; he broke the leg close to the socket, and the poor beast most loudly told his complaint.