"John Marston," returned the secretary, slowly, "is the name he gave me." And at that moment the man in ratcatcher looked at the girl. "John Marston," she faltered. "Why—why—it’s Danny! Danny, I thought you were dead!" She walked her horse towards him and held out her hand, while a wonderful light dawned in her eyes. "Danny!" she cried, "don’t you remember me?" And gradually the look of joy faded from her face, to be replaced by one of blank amazement. For the man was looking at her as if she had been a stranger. Then, with a courteous bow, he removed his hat. "You are the second person, madam, who has made the same mistake this morning. My name is John Marston." But the girl only stared at him in silence, and shook her head. "I’ve been watching you ride, Danny," she said, at length, "and just think of it—I didn’t know you. What a blind little fool I was, wasn’t I?" "I don’t see how you could be expected to recognize me, madam," answered the man. "I hope you’ll have as good a second run as the one we’ve just had. I’m afraid this poor old nag must go stablewards." He looped the reins over his arm, and once more raised his hat as he turned away. "But, Danny," cried the girl, a little wildly, "you can’t go like this." "Steady, Molly." Young Dawson was standing beside her, looking a little ruffled. "I don’t know who the devil Danny is or was; but this fellow says he’s John Marston. You can’t go throwin’ your arms round a stranger’s neck in the huntin’-field. It’s simply not done." "When I require your assistance on what is or is not done, Mr. Dawson, I will let you know," returned the girl, coldly. "Until then kindly keep such information to yourself." "Mr. Dawson!" The youth recoiled a pace. "Molly! what do you mean?" But the girl was taking not the slightest notice of him; her eyes were fixed on the stranger, who was talking for a moment to David Dawlish. "You forgot to take my cap," he said to the secretary, with a smile. "If you like I will send it along by post; or, if you prefer it, I have it on me now." And at that moment it occurred. It was all so quick that no one could be quite sure what happened. Perhaps it was a horse barging into the black’s quarters; perhaps it was the sudden flash of young Dawson’s cigarette-case in the sun. Perhaps only Uncle David saw what really caused the black suddenly to give one wild convulsive buck and bolt like the wind with the girl sawing vainly at its mouth. For a moment there was a stunned silence; then, with an agonized cry, Sir Hubert started to clamber into his saddle. "The quarry!" His frenzied shout sent a chill into the hearts of everyone who heard, and half the hunt started to mount. Only too well did they know the danger; the black was heading straight for the old disused slate-pit.