“It’s no use my having foxes, Glomax, if you won’t draw the cover.”  This the Lord said with a touch of anger, and the Lord’s anger, if really roused, might be injurious.  It was therefore decided that the hounds should again be put through the Bragton shrubberies,—­just for compliment to the new squire; and that then they should go off to Dillsborough Wood as rapidly as might be.

Larry walked his beast all the way up home very slowly, and getting off her, put her into the stable and went into the house.

“Is anything wrong?” asked the mother.

“Everything is wrong.”  Then he stood with his back to the kitchen fire for nearly half an hour without speaking a word.  He was trying to force himself to follow out her idea of manliness, and telling himself that it was impossible.  The first tone of her voice, the first glance at her face, had driven him home.  Why had she called him Larry again and again, so tenderly, in that short moment, and looked at him with those loving eyes?  Then he declared to himself, without uttering a word, that she did not understand anything about it; she did not comprehend the fashion of his love when she thought, as she did think, that a soft word would be compensation.  He looked round to see if his mother or the servant were there, and when he found that the coast was clear, he dashed his hands to his eyes and knocked away the tears.  He threw up both his arms and groaned, and then he remembered her message, “Bid him be a man.”

At that moment he heard the sound of horses, and going near the window, so as to be hidden from curious eyes as they passed, he saw the first whip trot on, with the hounds after him, and Tony Tuppett among them.  Then there was a long string of horsemen, all moving up to the wood, and a carriage or two, and after them the stragglers of the field.  He let them all go by, and then he repeated the words again, “Bid him be a man.”

He took up his hat, jammed it on his head, and went out into the yard.  As he crossed to the stables Runciman came up alone.  “Why, Larry, you’ll be late,” he said.

“Go on, Mr. Runciman, I’ll follow.”

“I’ll wait till you are mounted.  You’ll be better for somebody with you.  You’ve got the mare, have you?  You’ll show some of them your heels if they get away from here.  Is she as fast as she was last year, do you think?”

“Upon my word I don’t know,” said Larry, as he dragged himself into the saddle.

“Shake yourself, old fellow, and don’t carry on like that.  What is she after all but a girl?” The poor fellow looked at his intending comforter, but couldn’t speak a word.  “A man shouldn’t let himself be put upon by circumstances so as to be only half himself.  Hang it, man, cheer up, and don’t let ’em see you going about like that.  It ain’t what a fellow of your kidney ought to be.  If they haven’t found I’m a nigger,—­and by the holy he’s away.  Come along Larry and forget