alert, pricked ears--judging her
distance, and landing with never a peck or stumble. The light weight
on the pony's back was nothing to her; the delicate touch on her mouth
was all she needed to steady her at the jumps.

Near Harley Wood the fox decided regretfully that safety lay
elsewhere: the enemy, running silently and surely, were too hot on his
track. He crept through a hedge, and slipped like a shadow down a
ditch; and hounds, jumping out, were at fault for a moment. The
slight check gave the rest of the field time to get up.

"That's a great pony!" Norah heard the young officer say. She patted
Brunette's arching neck.

Then a quick cast of the hounds picked up the scent, and again they
were off, but no longer with the fences to themselves; so that it was
necessary to be watchful for the cheerful enthusiast who jumps on top
of you, and the prudent sportsman who wobbles all over the field in
his gallop, seeking for a gap. Killaloe drew away again: there was no
hunter in the country side to touch him. After him went Brunette,
with no notion of permitting her stable companion to lose her in a run
like this.

A tall hedge faced them, with an awkward take-off from the bank of a
ditch. Killaloe crashed through; Brunette came like a bird in his
tracks, Norah's arm across her face to ward off the loose branches.
She got through with a tear in her coat, landing on stiff plough
through which Mrs. Ainslie's grey was struggling painfully.
Brunette's light burden was all in her favour here--Norah was first to
the gate on the far side, opening it just in time for the "Master,"
and thrilling with joy at that magnate's brief "Thank you!" as she
passed through and galloped away. The plough had given the hounds a
long lead. But ahead were only green fields, dotted by clumps of
trees: racing ground, firm and springy. The air sang in their ears.
The fences seemed as nothing; the good horses took them in racing
style, landing with no shock, and galloping on, needing no touch of
whip or spur.

The old dog-fox was tiring, as well he might, and yet, ahead, he knew,
lay sanctuary, in an old quarry where the piled rocks hid a hole where
he had lain before, with angry hounds snuffing helplessly around him.
He braced his weary limbs for a last effort. The cruel eyes and
lolling tongues were very close behind him; but his muscles were
steel, and he knew how to save every short cut that gave him so much
as a yard. He saw th