The laird with whose harriers they were to hunt that day lived at a considerable distance. It was not often, in those times before railways and horse-boxes were invented, that there was hunting of any sort within reach of Morphie. There were no foxhounds in the county and no other harriers, though Lady Eliza had, for years, urged Fullarton to keep them; but the discussion had always ended in his saying that he could not afford such an expense and in her declaring that she would keep a pack herself. But things had gone on as they were, and a dozen or so of days in a season was all that either could generally get. This year she had only been out twice. The meet was at a group of houses too small to be called a village, but distinguished by the presence of a public-house and the remains of an ancient stone cross. A handful of gentlemen, among whom was Robert Fullarton, had assembled on horseback when they arrived, and these, with a few farmers, made up the field. Cecilia and her aunt were the only females in the little crowd, except a drunken old woman whose remarks were of so unbridled a nature that she had to be taken away with some despatch, and the wife of the master, who, drawn up decorously in a chaise at a decent distance from the public-house, cast scathing looks upon Lady Eliza’s costume. Urchins, ploughmen, and a few nondescript men who meant to follow on foot, made a background to the hounds swarming round the foot of the stone cross and in and out between the legs of the whips’ horses. The pack, a private one, consisted of about fifteen couple. Rocket, who expressed her astonishment at the sight of hounds by lashing out at them whenever occasion served, was very troublesome and her rider was obliged to keep her pacing about outside the fringe of bystanders until they moved off; she could not help wishing she had done as Cecilia suggested. The mare was always hot and now she bid fair to weary her out, snatching continually at her bit and never standing for a moment. ‘Her ladyship is very fond of that mare,’ observed Robert, as he and Cecilia found themselves near each other. ‘Personally, good-looking as she is, I could never put up with her. She has no vice, though.’ ‘It is her first sight of hounds,’ said his companion, ‘and no other person would have the patience to keep her as quiet as she is. My aunt’s saddle could so easily be changed on to Mayfly. She will be worn out before the day is over.’ ‘He will be a bold man who suggests it,’ said he, with a smile which irritated her unreasonably. ‘If he were yourself, sir, he might succeed. There’s Mayfly behind that tree with James. It could be done in a moment.’ ‘It is not my affair, my dear young lady,’ said he.