ades of twilight the rain had commenced to fall in a sudden torrent.
There had been some little hesitation on the part of the master about
drawing this last cover, for the hounds had had a rough day, and the
field was small; and directly the storm broke, the horn was blown
without hesitation, the pack was re-called, and the huntsman, cracking
his whip, started for home at a long, swinging trot. The day's sport
was over.

There were only a handful of horsemen waiting outside when the signal
was given, and with collars turned up to their ears, and cigars
alight, they were very soon riding down the hill to the village whose
lights were beginning to twinkle out from the darkness in the valley
below. At the cross-roads, Paul, who had been riding in the midst of
them, wheeled his horse round and took the road to Vaux Abbey amidst a
chorus of farewells.

"Are you going for the Abbey, De Vaux?" Captain Westover asked,
reining in his horse. "Better come home with me, and dine! I'll send
you back to-night, and they'll look after your mare all right in the
stables. Come along!"

Paul shook his head. "I'll get home, thanks!" he answered. "A wetting
won't hurt me, and there's only a mile or two of it."

Captain Westover shrugged his shoulders. "Just as you like. My people
would be very glad to see you! By the bye, you were to have called
last week, weren't you? Lady May was asking where you were this
morning! Come and dine to-morrow night!"

"Thanks! Unless I send word over to the contrary, I will, then!
Good-night!"

"Good-night!"

Captain Westover cantered on after the others, and Paul turned off
in the opposite direction, riding slowly, with bent head and loose
bridle. In his pocket was Adrea's letter, scarcely a week old; and
now that the physical excitement of the day was over, his thoughts,
as usual, were full of it again. It was an uphill battle that he
was fighting! All day long he had been striving to forget it! He had
spared neither himself nor his horses in the desperate attempt to
reach such a stage of physical exhaustion as should make his mind a
blank--as should free it, at any rate, from those torturing memories,
and the fierce restlessness which they begat. He had tried his utmost,
and he had failed. His pink hunting-coat and tops, immaculate at the
start, were covered with thick mud, and his horse (his second mount)
was scarcely able to put one foot before the other. Yet he had failed
utterly. Hunger and f