‘Gosh me!’ exclaimed a rough old man on a still rougher pony, as he came abreast of Cecilia, ‘I’ll no say but ye can ride bonnie! Wha learned ye?’ ‘My aunt,’ replied she. ‘Will yon be her?’ he inquired, shifting his ash plant into his left hand and pointing with his thumb. She assented. ‘Gosh!’ said he again, as he dropped behind. They were running straight down the strath along the arable land; the fields were large and Cecilia was relieved to see that Rocket was settling down and that, though she jumped big, she was carrying Lady Eliza well. The horse she herself was riding had a good mouth, and liked hounds; and when they turned aside up a drain, and, crossing the high road, were running through more broken ground, she found herself almost the only person with them, except the master, the first whip, and Fullarton, who was coming up behind. They were heading rather north-west and were in sight of the Grampians again, and dykes began to intersect the landscape. Now and then, patches of heather and bits of swamp intruded themselves on the cultivation. Though they had really only come a very few miles, they had got into a different part of the world, and she was beginning to think they would have a long ride home, considering how far they had come to the meet and how steadily they had been running inland, when the hounds checked in a small birch plantation. The fresh air blew from the hills through the leafless silver stems and the heavy clouds which hung over them seemed laden with coming rain. The ground had been rising all the way and some of the horses were rather blown, for, though the ascent was gradual, they had come fast. The old man on the rough pony got off and stood, the rein over his arm, on the outskirts of the trees; though he weighed fifteen stone he had the rudiments of humanity and his beast’s rough coat was dripping. ‘I’m thinking I’ll awa’ hame,’ he remarked to an acquaintance. Cecilia was just looking round for Lady Eliza when an old hound’s tongue announced his discovery, and the pack made once more, with their heads down, for the lower ground. ‘Down again to the fields, I do believe,’ said Fullarton’s voice. ‘That horse of yours carries you perfectly, Cecilia.’ ‘Do you know anything of my aunt?’ said she, as the hounds turned into a muddy lane between high banks. ‘She was going well when I saw her,’ he replied. ‘I think she wants to save Rocket as it is her first day. It does not do to sicken a horse with hounds at the beginning. Yes, there they go--westward again--down to the strath. I doubt but they changed their hare in the birches.’