ford.
Morgan is in it." Morgan was the huntsman. "Don't let them get before
you." Oh, no. She would let no one get before her. She did her very
best, and just got her horse's nose on the broken track leading down
into the brook before Lucinda. "Pretty good, isn't it?" said Lucinda.
Lizzie smiled sweetly. She could smile, though she could not speak.
"Only they do balk one so at one's fences!" said Lucinda. The horsey
man had all but regained his place, and was immediately behind
Lucinda, within hearing--as Lucinda knew.

On the further side of the field, beyond the brook, there was a
little spinny, and for half a minute the hounds came to a check.
"Give 'em time, sir, give 'em time," said Morgan to Frank, speaking
in full good humour, with no touch of Monday's savagery. "Wind him,
Bolton; Beaver's got it. Very good thing, my lady, isn't it? Now,
Carstairs, if you're a-going to 'unt the fox, you'd better 'unt him."
Carstairs was the horsey man,--and one with whom Morgan very often
quarrelled. "That's it, my hearties," and Morgan was across a broken
wall in a moment, after the leading hounds. "Are we to go on?" said
Lizzie, who feared much that Lucinda would get ahead of her. There
was a matter of three dozen horsemen up now, and, as far as Lizzie
saw, the whole thing might have to be done again. In hunting, to have
ridden is the pleasure;--and not simply to have ridden well, but to
have ridden better than others. "I call it very awkward ground,"
said Mrs. Carbuncle, coming up. "It can't be compared to the Baron's
country." "Stone walls four feet and a half high, and well built, are
awkward," said the noble master.

But the hounds were away again, and Lizzie had got across the gap
before Lucinda, who, indeed, made way for her hostess with a haughty
politeness which was not lost upon Lizzie. Lizzie could not stop to
beg pardon, but she would remember to do it in her prettiest way on
their journey home. They were now on a track of open country, and
the pace was quicker even than before. The same three men were still
leading, Morgan, Greystock, and Carstairs. Carstairs had slightly the
best of it; and of course Morgan swore afterwards that he was among
the hounds the whole run. "The scent was that good, there wasn't no
putting of 'em off;--no thanks to him," said Morgan. "I 'ate to see
'em galloping, galloping, galloping, with no more eye to the 'ounds
than a pig. Any idiot can gallop, if he's got it under 'im." All
which