st, just half a note, and then the sound
would come back, first from this rock and then from the other, and
the hounds as they heard it would open as though encouraged by the
music of the hills, and then their voices would be carried round the
valley, and come back again and again from the steep places, and they
would become louder and louder as though delighted with the effect
of their own efforts. Though there should be no hunting, the concert
was enough to repay a man for his trouble in coming there. "Yes,"
said Lord Hampstead, his disgust at the man having been quenched for
the moment by the charm of the music, "it is a wonderful spot for
echoes."

"It's what I call awfully nice. We don't have anything like that up
at St. Martin's-le-Grand." Perhaps it may be necessary to explain
that the Post Office in London stands in a spot bearing that poetic
name.

"I don't remember any echoes there," said Lord Hampstead.

"No, indeed;--nor yet no hunting, nor yet no hounds; are there, my
lord? All the same, it's not a bad sort of place!"

"A very respectable public establishment!" said Lord Hampstead.

"Just so, my lord; that's just what I always say. It ain't swell like
Downing Street, but it's a deal more respectable than the Custom
House."

"Is it? I didn't know."

"Oh yes. They all admit that. You ask Roden else." On hearing the
name, Lord Hampstead began to move his horse, but Crocker was at his
side and could not be shaken off. "Have you heard from him, my lord,
since you have been down in these parts?"

"Not a word."

"I dare say he thinks more of writing to a correspondent of the
fairer sex."

This was unbearable. Though the fox had again turned and gone up the
valley,--a movement which seemed to threaten his instant death, and
to preclude any hope of a run from that spot,--Hampstead felt himself
compelled to escape, if he could. In his anger he touched his horse
with his spur and galloped away among the rocks, as though his object
was to assist Mr. Amblethwaite in his almost frantic efforts. But
Crocker cared nothing for the stones. Where the lord went, he went.
Having made acquaintance with a lord, he was not going to waste the
blessing which Providence had vouchsafed to him.

"He'll never leave that place alive, my lord."

"I dare say not." And again the persecuted nobleman rode
on,--thinking that neither should Crocker, if he could have his will.

"By the way, as we are talking of Roden--"

"I h