Sometimes I heard their notes, borne by the westerly breeze in tantalising harmony on my longing ears. Sometimes I caught sight of a few scattered riders in the distance, a lot of cattle herded together in a corner, or a flock of sheep formed up in military line, and not yet recovered from their panic. I rode on like a man in a dream; minutes seemed to lengthen themselves into hours, and I was surprised to find my horse so fresh after such prolonged exertions. At last, rounding the corner of the well-known Tangler’s Copse, and speculating vaguely how I should ever cross the Sludge, supposing the chase to be still forward in the same direction, I caught a view of the whole assemblage, not a quarter of a mile off, on the opposite side of the brook. It was obvious they had killed their fox, after a capital run. Horses were being led about, men on foot were standing in groups, some were in the act of remounting—it was probable that the run had been over some little time. Distinct against the sky stood out Miss Merlin’s graceful figure, leaning forward to caress the redoubtable Lady-Killer, who had carried her so well. In close attendance, I made out the white hunter of the exquisite “Pop.” I should think that poor beast must have had enough of it. I was deliberating in my own mind whether I should not be fool enough to ride at the Sludge in cold blood, when my motions were decided for me by a general break-up of the distant party; Miss Merlin and her attendant cavaliers taking the direct road for the castle. It was evident she did not at present mean to return to the Haycock. Moodily and dejectedly, I too took my homeward way. I was disgusted with myself—disgusted with hunting—disgusted with life. I should have liked to know what the hounds had done, too; but I felt I could not have brooked the good-humoured curiosity of Mr. Tips, nor the self-sufficient pity of Mr. Naggett, who would be sure to swear he had gone better than he really did. Espying these two sportsmen at a turn in the road gradually overtaking me, I set spurs to Tipple Cider, and rattled back to the Haycock as fast as I could trot. Arrived there, I found the dapper groom in marching order, getting out his horses for a journey. He had received orders that morning to move them on to Melton; and I have never set eyes on Miss Merlin from that day to this. UNWIN BROTHERS, THE GRESHAM PRESS, WOKING AND LONDON. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ ● Transcriber’s Notes: ○ Missing or obscured punctuation was corrected. ○ Typographical errors were silently corrected. ○ Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation were made consistent only when a predominant form was found in this book. ○ Text that was in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_). End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Market Harborough and Inside the Bar, by G. J. Whyte-Melville