Lord Netherby listened with great impatience--as perhaps the reader may have done also--to this declaration of the Knight's views, and was about to reply, when suddenly a cheer from some country people, stationed on a rocky height at a short distance, drew all eyes towards the valley, where now the hounds were seen in full cry, three horsemen alone following. One of these was the huntsman; Lionel another; the third was in plain clothes, and not known to any of the party. He was mounted on a powerful horse, and even at that distance could be seen to manage him with the address of a perfect rider. The rest of the field were far behind, some still standing on the verge of a mountain torrent, which appeared to have formed the obstacle to the run, and into which more than one seemed to have fallen. Groups were gathered here and there along the bank, and dismounted horses galloped wildly to and fro, showing that the catastrophes had been numerous. While Lord Netherby looked with some alarm at the fearful chasm which had arrested all but three out of the entire field, the Knight followed Lionel with anxious eyes, as he led over the most desperate line of country in the West. “I never knew a fox take that line but once,” said Darcy, pointing to a wide expanse of bleak country, which stretched away to the base of the great mountain of Nephin. “I was a child at the time, but I remember the occurrence well; horse, men, and hounds tailed off one by one, some sorely injured, others dead beat, for the fellow was a most powerful dog-fox, and ran straight ahead for thirty-four miles of a desperate country. The following morning, at a little after daybreak, the fox was seen in a half trot near Ballycroy, still followed by two of the dogs, and he lived many years afterwards as a pensioner at the abbey; the dogs were never worth anything from that day.” While the Knight related this anecdote, the hounds and the hunters were gradually receding from view; and although at intervals some thought they could catch glimpses of them, at last they disappeared altogether. “I am sorry, Helen,” said the Knight, “that our visitors should have been so unfortunate in their sport.” “I am more grieved to think that Lionel should follow over such a country,” said Lord Netherby. “He's well mounted, my Lord; and though many would call him a reckless rider, he has as much judgment as he has daring. I am tolerably easy about him.” Helen did not seem so confident as her father; and as for Mrs. Somerville, she was considerably paler than usual, and managed her mettlesome horse with far less than her customary address.