Thair repudiating all part in the proceeding, Holden struggling for neutral ground, Mrs. Budd adjuring them to a firm stand with her against this harebrained escapade, a confusion of voices began. Bessie Lewis wavered in the face of her hostess’s vehemence. In the midst of the indecision Julia, who had been standing, her teeth on her under lip, her crop slashing at her boots, suddenly recommanded the situation. “Well, I’m off!” she cried. “See you again at the ‘kill!’” She caught up her riding-skirt, and ran across the hall and down the step. Longacre was after her. He felt a horrid responsibility for this mad bravado. Her foot hardly pressed his hand as she sprang into the saddle. Mrs. Budd clasped Thair’s arm. “Bring her back! Oh, _bring_ her back!” she entreated. “Safe and sound—no danger,” he reassured her. “Pretty rapid for the start,” he smiled to Holden, as he tucked up Bessie Lewis on an excited mare. “Can you hit the pace?” “I’m with you,” Holden muttered, straddling a dancing bay. “Can’t let ’em go alone!” They galloped in the wake of the mad riders. Julia’s habit fluttered at the front. The reckless spirit of her rose with the swinging pace. Just through the gate she wheeled left into a wagon-track over fields, a shortcut to the meet; Longacre followed, a neck behind. The rest, going at a more discreet pace, stuck to the sea road, so that the two reached the meet some few moments ahead, and waited, without a word to each other, with the few pink coats, among a yelping pack in a meadow ruffled over by the wind, ringed by live-oaks and somber cypresses. The others came pounding in, breaking through the trees in a rush of voices and color. “Too far ahead of the procession!” cried Holden. “You can follow as fast as you please,” called Julia. “Oh, we follow, princess, we follow!” drawled Thair; “but don’t make the way too steep.” The pink coats gave curious glances at Longacre’s bare head and golf attire. The uncoupled hounds scattered over the field, nuzzling through the wet, brown grass, till, with a short yelp from one throat and a long howl from thirty, they had the scent and were off. The field was bunched at the start, Longacre well up with Julia, who was riding hard for the lead. The going was heavy, and for this the bars were down, but the girl rode straight at the fence. Her black mare sank over fetlock on the other side, but was away with a bare instant lost, a nose behind Longacre, who, with the rest, had taken the open gate. “If you do that again,” he shouted, “I’ll lead you!” She laughed and spurred away from him. The M. F. H., with a dismayed look at her, was protesting to Thair, who shrugged. There was no help for it, he seemed to say. The girl’s hat, crammed over her eyes, pressed the hair to a close sweep low above her brows. Her nostrils dilated, her color burned. The riders strung out, Holden drawing abreast Julia, Longacre dropping back a length to Thair’s pace.