“You start your cross-country riding early,” commented Del Mar.

“Yes,” answered Elaine.  “You see we can hardly wait until autumn and the weather is so fine and cool, we feel that we ought to get into trim during the summer.  So we have paper chases and drag hunts as soon as we can, mainly to please the younger set.”

The chase was just about to start, when the valet came up.  Del Mar caught his eye and excused himself to us.  What he said, we could not hear, but Del Mar frowned, nodded and dismissed him.

Just then the horn sounded and we went off, dashing across the road into a field in full chase after the hounds, taking the fences and settling down to a good half hour’s run over the most beautiful country I have ever seen.

The hounds had struck the trail, which of course, as was finally decided, was nothing but that laid by an anise-seed bag dragged over the ground.  It was none the less, in fact perhaps more interesting for that.

The huntsman winded his horn and mirthful shouts of “Gone away!” sounded in imitation of a real hunt.  The blast of the horn once heard is never forgotten, thrilling the blood and urging one on.

The M. F. H. seemed to be everywhere at once, restraining those who were too eager and saving the hounds often from being ridden down by those new to the hunt who pressed them.

Elaine was one of the foremost.  Her hunter was one carefully trained, and she knew all the tricks of the game.

Somehow, I got separated, at first, from the rest and followed, until finally I caught up, and then kept behind one of the best riders.

Del Mar also got separated, but, as I afterward learned, by intention, for he deliberately rode out of the course at the first opportunity he had and let Elaine and the rest of us pass without seeing him.

Elaine’s blood was up, but somehow, in spite of herself, she went astray, for the hounds had distanced the fleetest riders and she, in an attempt at a short cut over the country which she thought she knew so well, went a mile or so out of the way.

She pulled up in a ravine and looked about.  Intently she listened.  There was no sign of the hunt.  She was hot and tired and thirsty and, at a loss just to join the field again, she took this chance to dismount and drink from a clear stream fed by mountain springs.

As she did so, floating over the peaceful woodland air came the faint strains of the huntsman’s horn, far, far off.  She looked about, straining her eyes and ears to catch the direction of sound.  Just then her horse caught the winding of the horn.  His ears went erect and without waiting he instantly galloped off, leaving her.  Elaine called and ran after him, but it was too late.  She stopped and looked dejectedly as he disappeared.  Then she made her way up the side of the ravine, slowly.

On she climbed until, to her surprise, she came to the ruins of an old hotel.  She remembered, as a child, when it had been famous as a health resort, but it was all changed now—­a wreck.  She looked at it a moment, then, as she had nothing better to do, approached it.