knew his business. With the exception of the water-jump,
the country over which they passed was not difficult. For a time
there was a run of gates, each of which their guide was able to open
for them, and as they came near to Dillsborough Wood there were gaps
in most of the fences; but it seemed to the girls that they had
galloped over monstrous hedges and leapt over walls which it would
almost take a strong man to climb. The brook, however,--the river as
it seemed to them,--had been the crowning glory. Ayala was sure that
that brook would never be forgotten by her. Even the Angel of Light
was hardly more heavenly than the brook.

That the fox was running for Dillsborough Wood was a fact well known
both to Tony Tappett and Mr. Larry Twentyman. A fox crossing the
brook from the Rufford side would be sure to run to Dillsborough
Wood. When Larry, with the two girls, were just about to enter the
ride, there was old Tony standing up on his horse at the corner,
looking into the covert. And now also a crowd of horsemen came
rushing up, who had made their way along the road, and had passed up
to the wood through Mr. Twentyman's farm-yard;--for, as it happened,
here it was that Mr. Twentyman lived and farmed his own land. Then
came Sir Harry, Colonel Stubbs, and some others who had followed the
line throughout,--the Colonel with his boots full of water, as he had
been forced to get off his horse in the bed of the brook. Sir Harry,
himself, was not in the best of humours,--as will sometimes be the
case with masters when they fail to see the cream of a run. "I never
saw such riding in my life," said Sir Harry, as though some great sin
had been committed by those to whom he was addressing himself. Larry
turned round, and winked at the two girls, knowing that, if sin had
been committed, they three were the sinners. The girls understood
nothing about it, but still thought that Larry Twentyman was divine.

While they were standing about on the rides, Tony was still at
his work. The riding was over, but the fox had to be killed, and
Dillsborough Wood was a covert in which a fox will often require a
large amount of killing. No happier home for the vulpine deity exists
among the shires of England! There are earths there deep, capacious,
full of nurseries; but these, on the present occasion, were debarred
from the poor stranger by the wicked ingenuity of man. But there were
deep dells, in which the brambles and bracken were so thick that