“Fair play!” shouted Billy, letting into the would-be hunters with his whip. “Give him two minits’ law and let him have a run for his money. Back you get, y’ divils, give him till he’s over the sunk fence—wait me word! There, he’s over! _Tally ho!_ hark forrard!” “Look!” cried Violet, “they are chasing him.” “Now’s our time,” said Dicky. “Uncle’s away over there to the left—let’s pretend to follow the chase; leave everything to me. Can you take the sunk fence?” “Rather!” said she. The hunted one had got a good start; he had left the sunk fence far behind him, and was making for the woods. Behind him, out-streaming like the tail of a fan-tail comet, came the populace. Billy Croom, who could have ridden the quarry down easily, was far too good a sportsman for that. He was riding at a trot, and from a distance you could see that he was treating the pursuers after the fashion of a pack of hounds—that is to say, with encouragement of voice and whip, especially the latter. He was having more fun out of the business than any one else. The General riding near Billy seemed to be doing a great deal of shouting. “To the right now!” said Dicky, when they had cleared the fence. “They are all on ahead, and we can cut straight across to the woods.” Mr Murphy was also making for the woods but far lower down, and he “went to earth,” to judge by the roar of the pursuing pack, just as the lovers reached the shelter of the trees. “Let’s get off and leave the horses here,” said Dicky. “I must have a good long talk to you. Patsy ought to be somewhere near. I told him this morning to watch out for us, and keep close to us. I told him we’d most likely take shelter in these trees.” “Listen!” said Violet. Patsy that morning, with rare fidelity and close attention to business, had forsaken his duties and all delights, and posted himself in the branches of a beech tree. From this vantage he could see the “meet.” He saw Billy Croom riding furiously up and delivering his message. He saw the pursuit of Mr Murphy, he saw Violet and Dicky Fanshawe’s manœuvre. Directly they turned beyond the sunk fence and rode towards the wood, he saw what they were after, marked their direction, came down the beech tree with the rapidity of a monkey and made through the wood to meet them. “Oh! there you are,” said Mr Fanshawe. “Take the horses, Patsy, and lead them back to the stable. We will return on foot.” “Yes, sir,” said Patsy, taking the bridles. “This way,” said Dicky, leading Violet, who was holding her short habit in one hand. He led her amidst the trees which were sparsely set, till, on looking round, nothing was to be seen but the tree-boles, the withered fern under foot and above, through the tracery of the branches, the dull December day. Here Mr Fanshawe struck his head in a dramatic fashion. “I have been half-mad all the morning to have a word with you. Violet, it’s all up.” “What?” asked Violet, half-alarmed at the distraction visible in her companion.