the rider's tranquil position,
thought the fox had only popped out and then in again. However, he fell
in with the huntsman, and told him Miss Peyton's gray had seen
something. The hounds appeared puzzled; and so the huntsman rode round
to Miss Peyton, and, touching his cap, asked her if she had seen nothing
of the fox.

She looked him dreamily in the face.

"The fox?" said she; "he broke cover ten minutes ago."

The man blew his horn lustily, and then asked her reproachfully why she
had not tally-hoed him, or winded her horn: with that he blew his own
again impatiently.

Miss Peyton replied, very slowly and pensively, that the fox had come
out soiled and fatigued, and trailing his brush. "I looked at him," said
she, "and I pitied him. He was one, and we are many; he was so little,
and we are so big; _he had given us a good gallop_; and so I made up my
mind he should live to run another day."

The huntsman stared stupidly at her for a moment, then burst into a
torrent of oaths, then blew his horn till it was hoarse, then cursed and
swore till he was hoarse himself, then to his horn again, and dogs and
men came rushing to the sound.

"Couple up, and go home to supper," said Miss Peyton, quietly. "The fox
is half-way to Gallowstree Gorse; and you won't get him out of that this
afternoon, I promise you."

As she said this, she just touched her horse with the spur, leaped the
low hedge in front of her, and cantered slowly home across country. She
was one that seldom troubled the hard road, go where she would.

She had ridden about a mile, when she heard a horse's feet behind her.
She smiled, and her color rose a little; but she cantered on.

"Halt, in the king's name!" shouted a mellow voice; and a gentleman
galloped up to her side, and reined in his mare.

"What! have they killed?" inquired Catharine, demurely.

"Not they; he is in the middle of Gallowstree Gorse by now."

"And is this the way to Gallowstree Gorse?"

"Nay, Mistress," said the young man; "but when the fox heads one way and
the deer another, what is a poor hunter to do?"

"Follow the slower, it seems."

"Say the lovelier and the dearer, sweet Kate."

"Now, Griffith, you know I hate flattery," said Kate; and the next
moment came a soft smile, and belied this unsocial sentiment.

"Flattery?" said the lover. "I have no tongue to speak half your
praises. I think the people in this country are as blind as bats, or
they'd"----

"All except M