Well, as I was sitting high in my leafy house one day, I heard the sound of hoofs, and looked out to see who might be passing. There were two men, mounted, and at their heels three heavily-built, lumbering dogs, of a variety new to me. It was easy to guess that they were the bloodhounds of whom the country people stood in such dread. Poor beasts! I should not have feared them myself half as much as I should have feared either of those men. They looked weary and footsore, being indeed of a breed too heavy to follow mounted men, and they were plodding along in the dust of the road and the hot sun, in a way that made me feel very sorry for them. The rider in front was evidently Sir Rupert De Lacy. He was a big old man, with square relentless jaws, and the colour of gray granite. His hair was quite white and soft, such hair as might have belonged to an innocent, gentle old man. But Sir Rupert had eyes as ferocious as a wild beast's, with curious red lights in them which I should say were the lights of madness. You will wonder how I saw all this, but as it happened Sir Rupert was riding bareheaded, and as he passed below my tree he pointed with his whip towards Brandon, and then laughed. My description of him owes nothing at all to fancy, though the others laughed at me about it, and said it was only my romantic way to fancy I could see the fires in our old enemy's eyes. Behind him a pace or two rode James Gaskin, Sir Rupert's steward--Sir Rupert's "devil", as I have heard him called. When a man has a mind to be wicked indeed Satan generally gives him tools to his liking, and if half the stories about Gaskin were true, he was as much more wicked than Sir Rupert as hell is wickeder than earth. Gaskin was yellow and shrivelled, with a slight hump between his shoulders. He was grinning in answer to Sir Rupert's speech, and the grin showed teeth like fangs. I have never, indeed, seen a face in which evil was so terribly written. Now as they passed below, Paudeen, my little half-bred Irish terrier, who was lying in my lap, must needs cock his ears and growl. The men did not hear it, but the dogs did, and growled in answer. Then the man, Gaskin, snatched from his pocket a horrible knotted whip, and, leaning over, lashed at the poor beasts that were doing no harm. Two of them shrank away whimpering. The third never flinched, but, lifting her tremendous jowl, faced the man with her black lips drawn back over her great teeth, and every hair on her bristling. I almost laughed aloud to see how Mr. Gaskin trotted forward to put a good space between himself and the brute. Sir Rupert burst into laughter, a harsh and insolent laughter without merriment. "Take care, Gaskin," he spluttered, "or Venom will pay off old scores on you one of these days. She hasn't forgotten that touch you gave her with the red-hot irons. She'll do you a mischief if she can. I'd confine my attentions to the other brutes if I were you."