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 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 RIVERSIDE
 
 •/'^ /t
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX
 
 BY THE SAME AUTHORS 
 
 Some Experiences of an Irish R.M. 
 
 Further Experiences of an Irish R.M. 
 
 All on the Irish Shore 
 
 Some Irish Yesterdays 
 
 An Irish Cousin 
 
 The Real Charlotte 
 
 The Silver Fox
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 AN EPISODE IN THE LIFE OF 
 MISS ROWAN 
 
 BY 
 
 E. CE. SOMERVILLE and MARTIN ROSS 
 
 METHUEN & CO. LTD. 
 
 36 ESSEX STREET W.C. 
 
 LONDON
 
 
 Mrsi Published in jgii
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX
 
 Then Dan Russdl the fox stert up at once, 
 . . . . • 
 
 His colour was betwix yelwe and red ; 
 And tipped was his tail, and both his eras 
 With black, unlike the remenant of his heres. 
 His snout was smal, with glowing eyen twey : 
 
 • • • • • 
 
 A col fox, ful of sleigh iniquitee." 
 
 The Nonnes Preestes Tale 
 The Canterbury Tales, 
 
 Chatuer
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 IT is better, when practicable, to begin at 
 the beginning of the episode. 
 Katharine Rowan went to Aix-les- 
 Bains, primarily because, at the moment, she 
 had nothing else to do ; she went there, in the 
 second place, because Mrs. Masterman sug- 
 gested it, and moreover assured her that she 
 would find it a thoroughly conducive place for 
 writing; wherein Mrs. Masterman lied. v 
 
 Not intentionally, it may be admitted. Her 
 mornings were devoted to her "cure" in its 
 various ramifications. Doubtless, as she lay, 
 simmering in her blankets, and viewed the 
 fervent foreign sky, sandwiched between the 
 slits of the Venetian blinds, and heard the 
 tangled chiming of many church bells, and 
 smellcd the strange and excellent savours that 
 ascended from the kitchen through the vine 
 curtain of the balcony, and absorbed the sweet
 
 2 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 influences of France through every pore, she 
 beheved that the balmy leisure must be fraught 
 with inspiration, and that the pages of foolscap 
 were falling like snow from the pen of her 
 young friend. It was characteristic of Mrs. 
 Masterman's generous belief in her friends that 
 she had accepted Katharine as a writer on the 
 strength of a report of amateur theatricals 
 compiled by her for Captain Masterman's regi- 
 mental magazine, and also because a bazaar 
 palmist had, for the moderate sum of one 
 shilling, promised Miss Rowan a successful 
 literary career. Mrs. Masterman had, like 
 Katharine, both Irish and Scotch blood in her, 
 and the palmist had found both ladies very 
 sympathetic. Ulick Adare had indeed pre- 
 dicted something to the same effect, but that, 
 as Katharine pointed out to Mrs. Masterman, 
 was the direct result of the letter that she had 
 written to him about his last book. 
 
 " He asked me to criticise it, so of course I 
 praised it. Any infant knows that if it is asked 
 for criticism it is expected to offer adulation," 
 said the sapient Miss Katharine ; " as a matter 
 of fact it was excellent. All his stuff is. But 
 he knew that as well as I did." 
 
 Yet the fact that Mr. Ulysses Adare had 
 thought her praise worth asking for played its
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 3 
 
 part in the question of the career ; and the 
 desire for the pen, with its vain-glorious- 
 ness, its self-consciousness, its insincerity, was 
 born. 
 
 Also its humiliations. Equipped with an 
 MS. book, a stylograph, and a sun-umbrella, 
 Miss Rowan strode purposefully through the 
 public gardens of Aix, and found them 
 swarmed over by black-pinafored children, 
 insatiably inquisitive, and with every seat 
 occupied by nurses, rapt in ecstasies of con- 
 versation ; she tried the basket chairs in the 
 balconies of the " Cercle," and such people 
 as she knew at Aix arrived, full of sociability, 
 and disposed themselves in the surrounding 
 chairs. She climbed, in the stupefying glare 
 of 1 1 a.m., to certain wooded heights that still 
 survive the upward march of hotels, and found 
 that by the time she had gazed her fill at the 
 Dent du Chat, pale with heat in the tense still- 
 ness of the midday sky, and watched through the 
 liquid and trembling air the steamer creeping 
 like a water-beetle across the lake to Haute 
 Combe, and had shaken off the hypnotism of 
 the whirring grasshoppers, and the popping of 
 the bursting seed pods, and discovered that she 
 was sitting on an ants' nest, the midday bells 
 were ringing in the while town below her, and
 
 4 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 it was time to crawl down the hill again to 
 dejeuner. 
 
 With dejeuner the day, as far as literary 
 endeavour went, fell in ruins for Katharine. 
 With Mrs. Masterman, on the contrary, it 
 dawned. Not indeed for literary endeavour ; 
 that she regarded as a creditable delassement for 
 idle spinsters, or, if taken really seriously, 
 as a somewhat shady occupation in which 
 mythical, obscure and eccentric people some- 
 times made millions, sometimes starved 
 picturesquely. "Not that Ulick Adare is 
 obscure, or mad," she hastened to say. "At 
 least I hope not, as he's my cousin. But 
 you know his grandmother, old Lady Kil- 
 brogan — not the one on my side — used to 
 do extraordinary things ; take off her shoes 
 and stockings in church — a sort of Moham- 
 medan idea I suppose. ... It was a square 
 pew with curtains round it, I have always 
 understood. But still most people might think 
 it — unconventional, shall we say?" 
 
 Katharine said, not without offence, that 
 she might say it if she liked, and went on to 
 ask if Mrs. Masterman meant to imply that 
 people who wanted to write had to take their 
 choice between being outsiders or maniacs. 
 Mrs. Masterman replied that in her limited
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 5 
 
 experience they were generally one or the 
 other, and often both, and forthwith transferred 
 her attention to her neighbour on her right 
 hand. 
 
 Mrs. Masterman and Miss Rowan were 
 staying at a small, dowdy, and confidential 
 hotel, that had been, as it were, In the Master- 
 man family for generations. Among other 
 out-worn creeds it held to the custom of the 
 long table, and to the companion belief that 
 English people enjoy being herded together 
 like lepers, and segregated from among all 
 other nations. The visitor, once set in his 
 place at the table, is bound to his neighbours 
 by a link indissoluble as that of matrimony; 
 nothing save death or departure can bring 
 release from two daily hours of small talk. 
 Conscientious persons go through with it, and 
 endure a brain exhaustion for which no one 
 gives them credit ; only those possessed of the 
 great gift of being silent, contentedly, often 
 pitilessly, silent, come out of it unscathed. 
 Every one with whom we talk is either our host 
 or our guest, and by virtue, perhaps, of her 
 strain of Irish blood, the soul of the hostess 
 was in Katharine. As it happened, she had 
 hitherto been privileged to possess tliat soul 
 in peace. The individual on her left had no
 
 6 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 desire to be either guest or host ; she was one 
 of a tribe of female botanists, who, in virtue of 
 their calling, were habitually late for meals, 
 arriving well on in the menu, hot, hungry, and 
 absorbed in triumphs or failures too momentous 
 for the appreciation of an outsider. On this 
 day, however, their places were vacant ; with 
 the almost awful completeness that is the 
 tragedy of hotel acquaintances, the botanical 
 party had gone under with all hands, and the 
 waters had closed over them, (a catastrophe 
 not without its advantages where botanical 
 hands are concerned). 
 
 Madame of the Hotel had placed a new- 
 comer beside Miss Rowan. A pretty, dark- 
 haired little lady, with lustrous brown eyes, 
 whose general effect suggested that Madame 
 had for once permitted a foreign lamb to stray 
 into the English fold. Katharine was men- 
 tally balancing the rival claims of Italy and 
 South America when she overheard the new- 
 comer confide to Madame a request for white 
 wine, in French that faltered in the English 
 mode. Yet not quite English. 
 
 The stranger embarked upon the white 
 wine ; delicately and with the neatness of a little 
 bird, she dipped her small and aquiline beak 
 into the glass. There was a moment of
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 7 
 
 concentrated stillness, her face grew suddenly 
 scarlet, and the inner soul, that does not wait 
 for introductions, looked forth from her brown 
 eyes in horrified appeal to Miss Rowan. After 
 an instant of palpable indecision the mouthful 
 went down. 
 
 •* Oh, Heavenly Powers ! " she gasped, and 
 the South of Ireland lay bare, "that's awful! 
 That's the ugly wine ! For gracious' sake, is it 
 poison ? " 
 
 The all-watchful Madame was already at 
 her elbow, and snatching up the bottle applied 
 her nose to it. 
 
 " Mais c'est du vinaigre ! " she trumpeted to 
 the room at large. 
 
 A gale of laughter went down the long 
 tables ; it drove the waiters before it from the 
 room ; the kitchen, on the farther side of the 
 courtyard, was audibly felled as one man by 
 the jest. 
 
 It was the touch of ill-nature that made the 
 whole hotel kin, and in Katharine's subsequent, 
 and not uneventful dealings with Mrs. Delanty, 
 she did not forget to enter it to heron the credit 
 side that she laughed at her own discomfiture 
 as wildly as the youngest waiter of them all. 
 
 That evening Mrs. Masterman and Miss 
 Rowan went as usual to thf^ " Cercle," strolling
 
 8 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 pleasantly down in the warm dusk, past the 
 scented gardens, and through the spotless 
 streets, and across the Place, pictorial and un- 
 real as a set piece in a theatre, to the pale 
 palace among the horse-chestnuts, with its wide 
 steps, and crimson carpets, and necklaces and 
 diadems of softened lights. They sat in a 
 corridor, waiting for the music to begin, and 
 watched the world and its wives go past. 
 More especially its wives, in garments and 
 hats never intended to sec the light of day, 
 dedicated exclusively to de^ni-toilette and the 
 white blaze of electricity. Iridescent beings, 
 clad like fish in shining scales, wafting strange 
 perfumes, twinkling with diamonds, alternated 
 with British dowdiness, dressed in its best, and 
 nerving itself to meet Continental vice with a 
 pathetic confidence in its Sunday gown. The 
 British male came better out of the contest, 
 perhaps for lack of imagination, perhaps for 
 want of ambition. Miss Rowan decided that 
 timidity was at the root of the matter, and said 
 so to Mr. Adare, who had crawled in from his 
 hotel, and fallen limply into a chair beside her. 
 " They shelter behind their tailor," she said, 
 "in fact no one gives sufficient credit to the 
 English tailor for his share in creating national 
 character."
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 9 
 
 " That's very clever," said Ulick Adare, 
 wan and fractious from heat, " but it's my jour de 
 repos, and my doctor doesn't allow me to argue." 
 
 " Coward ! " said Mrs. Masterman, allowing 
 her blue eyes to rest upon him for a moment, 
 with a charming blend of mockery and caress. 
 " Don't take it lying down ! " 
 
 "If you'll let me lie down I'll take any- 
 thing," replied Ulick Adare, mopping his 
 sallow brow. 
 
 " Men are the slaves of convention," pur- 
 sued Katharine, driving ahead as was her wont, 
 and laying about her in a way that any pro- 
 perly brought up young woman would recognize 
 as thoroughly impolitic. "And the slaves of 
 fashion too ! Their ideal is conformity, and 
 their want of imagination ..." 
 
 "What about your much-admired hunting- 
 kit.'*" interrupted Ulick, with the languid con- 
 tentiousness of a wasp on a wet day. " I 
 should have thought it was the apotheosis of 
 conformity." 
 
 " It's the only picturesque dress men have 
 left themselves, and they do well to be rigid 
 about preserving it," retorted Katharine, shift- 
 ing her ground. " Look at your ordinary 
 country clothes ! Made of grey mud, or ycllf)vv 
 mud ..."
 
 10 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 " Children ! Children ! " reproved Mrs. 
 Masterman. 
 
 " I'm very ill," said Ulick Adare, " I want 
 to have the last word." 
 
 "In my experience the last word is gener- 
 ally 'Damn !'" said Mrs. Masterman, serenely, 
 " and this is not the place for it — and there's 
 the bell " 
 
 The electric bell had begun to utter its 
 piercing summons. Katharine rose, with the 
 light of battle still in her eye, and flinging, with 
 a warlike gesture, something frivolous and pale 
 blue about her straight shoulders, swept into 
 the concert-room in front of her friends. She 
 was tall and fair-haired ; she walked easily, 
 in the English manner, with the balance that 
 is given by out-door games of skill and 
 speed. 
 
 " ' The imperial votaress passed on,' " said 
 Ulick Adare, with an amused tired eye upon 
 her, as she parted the ranks of the smoothly- 
 gliding foreign ladies. " I hope she won't 
 knock two or three of them down en route ! " 
 
 They here were enveloped in the attentions 
 of a menial in gold lace, long black whiskers, 
 and white calves, who found obvious chairs, 
 and provided unnecessary foot-stools, knowing 
 to a nicety the pusillanimous heart of the
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX ii 
 
 English, and the methods, firm yet courtly, by 
 which the largesse is extracted. The long 
 concert-room filled apace. Presently, among 
 the rustling, scented crowd, Katharine espied 
 a group of the old ladies who gave to her hotel 
 its special cachet, and among them the incon- 
 gruous little figure of her table companion, Mrs. 
 Delanty. Among their good grey polls her 
 head, with its dark and intricate achievement 
 of coiffure, and its over-fashionable hat, was as 
 poignant as a cry for help. ** She certainly 
 has a very neat profile," said Miss Rowan, 
 reverting to a previous discussion. 
 
 "Yes," said Mrs. Masterman, " but it does 
 not alter my opinion in the least. Good 
 features are no criterion in Ireland. When 
 William and I were soldiering over there I 
 knew her type by the hundred. Very agree- 
 able they are too, when they forget to be grand. 
 For my part I infinitely prefer them to the 
 English equivalent." 
 
 " Well, / found her most agreeable," said 
 Katharine, still argumentative, " she talked 
 about horses and hunting all through dinner." 
 
 " I believe it is a topic that lends itself to 
 great breadth of treatment," murmured Ulick 
 Adare spitefully. 
 
 " You shall both have your collars and
 
 12 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 chains on the next time I take you out," said 
 Mrs. Masterman. 
 
 The music began. The orchestra crashed 
 into a concert overture of enormous vigour, 
 and the Hsteners leaned back in their chairs 
 and withdrew into that inner fastness wherein 
 each soul, after its own fashion, meets the 
 spirit of music. Or bars it out, as the case may 
 be. Katharine thought that on this sultry 
 night the spirit of music had rather over- 
 inspired the brass, which flared and blazed till 
 she felt as if the walls of her particular fastness 
 were red hot. She glanced at Mrs. Delanty 
 and her comrades. The grey polls were mak- 
 ing praiseworthy attempts to nod in time to the 
 music, but were badly hampered by the fact 
 that the orchestra was dealing with a move- 
 ment in seven time. Mrs. Delanty was yawn- 
 ing furtively into her fan ; this, obviously, was 
 not what she had come to Aix for. 
 
 " I feel sorry for her," said Katharine, as, 
 at the end of the first part, they moved with 
 the slow crowd towards the card-rooms, and 
 saw Mrs. Delanty driving her rheumatic team 
 in the same direction. " She told me she had 
 come here for fun, and was supposed to be 
 taking care of one of those old ladies, and that 
 she couldn't call her soul her own."
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 13 
 
 " I should think she could do without one 
 very well," said Ulick Adare, *' especially here. 
 Why must we talk about her ? She's quite 
 uninteresting. Here are real old-fashioned 
 sinners to look at. The sort of people who 
 stab one another in evening dress in sixpenny 
 magazines." 
 
 The green tables stood like islands under 
 the great constellations of electric light, and 
 round them sat, and over them leaned, the 
 people of yEsop's Fables, the conventional 
 vultures and snakes, wolves and rabbits, pigs 
 and toads, who have been wrested from their 
 own sphere of innocence to typify human 
 iniquity. 
 
 Katharine slowly insinuated herself into 
 the crowd that fringed one of the tables ; she 
 peered between fat necks and bald heads, and 
 watched the conjuring tricks of the croupiers, 
 and the elaborate tranquillity of the players. 
 A Japanese officer was among them ; he did 
 not need to assume that deadly indifference, he 
 remained his ordinary self, watching the game 
 with Eastern eyes that took all and gave 
 nothing. 
 
 "I declare I'd rather the Jap than any of 
 them ! " said the entirely Western voice of 
 Mrs. Dclanty at Katharine's elbow, "but
 
 14 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 you'd be more afraid of him ! He's like a 
 little idol that a gentleman gave me one time. 
 Oh, a horrid thing. I lamed two horses the 
 week I got it ! " 
 
 "Have you got it still?" inquired Mrs. 
 Masterman eagerly, as befitted an amateur of 
 the occult. 
 
 "Indeed, then, I have not!" replied Mrs. 
 Delanty. " I gave it to an old nurse of mine 
 and told her it was St. Patrick! — and it as 
 black as soot ! " 
 
 " And what happened ? " said Mrs. Master- 
 man, with a gleaming eye. 
 
 " Nothing at all ! She got the old age 
 pension, and she only sixty-eight, and she said 
 it was thanks to Saint Patrick ! " 
 
 This singular result of the blending of 
 two faiths left Mrs. Masterman incapable of 
 response, a position to which she was quite 
 unaccustomed. 
 
 During the days that remained of Miss 
 Rowan's time at Aix with her friend, Mrs. 
 Delanty became, as it were, their little dog. 
 She came when they called, and often when 
 they did not call. She reduced the wardership 
 of her old lady to a system that dovetailed 
 remarkably with the leisure of her new acquain- 
 tances ; she cultivated them with a success that
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 15 
 
 she owed partly to her accent, partly to her 
 Irish perceptiveness, and partly to the assis- 
 tance of an unexpected and powerful ally, known 
 to Chaucer as Dan Russel the Fox. 
 
 He was, as it appeared, a very particular 
 friend of Mrs. Delanty, and of him, and of his 
 life, both public and private, she discoursed 
 untiringly to the respectfully enthusiastic Miss 
 Rowan. She told of hounds and of puppy- 
 walking, of hunting, and of horses, young and 
 old, and of the manner in which she dealt with 
 all these things. She listened kindly to the 
 fact that Katharine's experience of hunting 
 consisted of a blank day in Kent on a hireling, 
 and a frosty one in Cheshire on a carriage- 
 horse. 
 
 "A friend of mine told me that all you 
 want in Cheshire is a donkey and a boat," she 
 said magnificently ; " if you could see the stone- 
 faced banks in our country ! It's not an old 
 carriage-horse that'd get you over them ! I 
 I have a young fellow, a four-year-old, I broke 
 him myself; he'd carry you flying in any 
 country ! But I'll say this for Gus Fitz- 
 Symons's hounds, if a horse can live with thcui 
 he can go anywhere ! " 
 
 To Mrs. Masterman she talked briefly but 
 movingly, of her widowed state, of her delicate
 
 i6 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 chest, of the charms of the climate in the South 
 of Ireland, of her loneliness . . . 
 
 ** She tells me she wants to take Indian 
 children," said Mrs. Masterman, who possessed 
 two of her own, for whose sake she had 
 deserted William in the East. " It mififht not 
 be such a bad idea " 
 
 It was on the steamer, going over to Haute 
 Combe, on the farther side of Lac Bourget, 
 that Mrs, Delanty first let fall the intelligence 
 that she had a little house to let. She, Mrs. 
 Masterman, Miss Rowan, and Mr. Adare, were 
 seated in the usual unsociable row, on the 
 gridiron benches peculiar to a pleasure-steamer. 
 The awning was too high to keep out the sun ; 
 the peacock-blue water was too far away to be 
 companionable, the fellow-passengers were all 
 too near ; the gross and inveterate vapours of 
 hot oil came and went fitfully, and at intervals 
 a dark and greasy being sidled from the cabin, 
 and polished the brasses with a rag of Cim- 
 merian blackness. Through a streaming veil 
 of smoke the white villas of Aix wavered 
 among the trees, with the grey wall of Mont 
 Revard towering behind ; the vines down by 
 the lake-side Haunted their September splen- 
 dours, forecasting their own future in every 
 shade of wine colour, and deep in the green-blue
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 17 
 
 water lay the pine woods and crags of the 
 Dent du Chat. 
 
 " We are an outrage," said Ulick Adare, as 
 the steamer trampled her way through the 
 reflections, " a steamer should always be hull 
 down over an Atlantic horizon. Here is this 
 brute rooting up the beauty like a pig in a 
 flower garden." 
 
 ** Oh, Mr. Adare, how do you think of the 
 things you say ? " cried Mrs. Delanty, admir- 
 ingly, implanting, in her desire to be apprecia- 
 tive, the question most calculated to humiliate. 
 
 " I suppose these poetic similes come 
 naturally to Irishmen," said Katharine, regard- 
 ing Mr. Adare with a steadfast and expression- 
 less eye. 
 
 " Well, indeed, there's a thing I've often 
 heard said in Ireland about some one that was 
 in a passion," continued Mrs. Delanty, expan- 
 sively, " ' the pigs are out, and running through 
 the potato garden ! ' Many's the time I said 
 it when I rode up to the meet, and saw the 
 black face Gus Fitz-Symons had on him ! It 
 makes me think of the hounds when I look 
 at these little houses down by the water," she 
 went on sentimentally, regarding a structure 
 that might have been the progeny of a mosque 
 and a mediaeval castle, " though on earth what
 
 i8 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 they want; with those cupolas all over them I 
 don't know ! The most they'd do would be to 
 hold your Sunday hat ! Ah ! Miss Rowan, 
 if you could see a meet of hounds there by the 
 lake-side ! With the red coats and all ! And 
 I have a little duck of a covert that holds a fox 
 as neat as a cat in a basket ! 'Tis a perfect 
 little hunting box! I had tenants there the 
 past two years, and they doted on the place ! " 
 " How many bedrooms are there ? " said 
 Jean Masterman, meditatively.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 NOTHING but the fact that Mrs. 
 Masterman's cook had a brother 
 buried in Galway would have in- 
 duced her, she said, to go to Ireland ; the rest 
 of the household submitted to exile, not to say 
 social degradation, "in compliment to Cook 
 and Mrs. Masterman." Without this co- 
 operation it is at least doubtful that Katharine 
 would have carried her point. 
 
 It was on an afternoon in late October that 
 the emigrants set forth ; a cold, yellow, 
 London afternoon, with more than a touch of 
 frost. Behind them in the van travelled a 
 new habit and a new saddle, dedicated to the 
 ideal hunter that the widow Delanty had 
 pledged herself to provide for Katharine ; in 
 an adjacent carriage sat Mrs. Masterman's 
 three servants, and wept abundantly, in spite 
 of the alleviating circumstance in connection 
 with the cook's brother. Untouched by care, 
 Mrs. Masterman's two little boys sat in the 
 
 «9
 
 20 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 windows of her carriage and played with her 
 Pomeranian puppy, all three alike serenely 
 irresponsible as hand parcels, regarding a 
 journey as an Elysium of penny toys and 
 chocolate ; their time for weeping was not yet. 
 
 "Are we fools?" said Mrs. Masterman, 
 addressing Ulick Adare from the carriage 
 window, with an eye wild with crowding 
 memories of "old forgotten things," and the 
 forebodings proper to the leader of an 
 expedition. 
 
 *' One shouldn't trust to appearances," said 
 Mr. Adare, reassuringly, " I'll write to you 
 about it." 
 
 " I thought you were coming over to see," 
 said Katharine, over Mrs. Masterman's 
 shoulder, as the train moved off. 
 
 Irish voices were in the corridor of the 
 train, casual, comfortable, philosophic. Irish 
 luggage, scarred by many cross-channel 
 transits, encumbered the carriages. As the 
 Irish Sea drew nearer, forth from among the 
 Amalekites came the Irish people, and at 
 every station were drawn, as by a magnet, into 
 the Irish Mail. The night was full of their 
 sociable voices. Katharine thrilled at the 
 sound, and added fresh attributes to the ideal 
 hunter that awaited her on the further side of
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 21 
 
 the channel. On board the boat an Irish 
 stewardess prophesied smooth things of the 
 weather, and was justified. The ode that is 
 their due has not yet been written of steward- 
 esses, and especially of Irish stewardesses. 
 Daily seeing human nature at its most self- 
 centred, morose, and abject, they maintain, 
 with hearts unwithered, their interest, their 
 geniality, and their enthusiasm for conversation* 
 and with each voyage increase their vast 
 acquaintanceship with the family histories of 
 their country. Somewhere in the electric light 
 of an October dawn the dreary stir of cross- 
 channel steamer life began. The clatter of 
 crockery, the voices of male passengers, the 
 ensuing pop of soda water corks, the stealing 
 odour of fried bacon, and through all the voice 
 of the stewardess, cheerful as ever after her 
 night's vigil, going her rounds with cups of tea, 
 and conversation. 
 
 " Now, Mrs. Grogan, ma'am, we'll be in In 
 half an hour ! Will I get you some nice hot 
 water to wash your hands ? " 
 
 Through the thin partition Mrs. Grogan's 
 answer came quaveringly to Katharine. 
 
 "Ah, thank ye, no. I'll not mind. I'm 
 going to relations." 
 
 Here was Ireland indeed! exulted the
 
 22 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 all-attentive Katharine. What reliance on 
 the good sense of her own family ! What 
 confidence in the sympathy of the stewardess, 
 and with what entire understanding was the 
 confidence received ! Ulick Adare had told 
 Katharine more than once that it was the 
 excessive common sense of the Irish people 
 that made them unconventional. She thought 
 of him now, and allotted the incident its 
 place in the letter she was going to write to 
 him. 
 
 Later on in the day Miss Rowan and Mrs. 
 Masterman agreed that even Mrs. Grogan's 
 unexacting relations might have drawn the line 
 at their appearance. The fleeting gloss of the 
 steamer toilette had worn away under the 
 stress of two hours in a slow train ; they were, 
 in the phrase hallowed by custom, travel- 
 stained, and there were still seven miles to 
 drive, and on outside-cars. Protest, even 
 outrage, was in the respectable countenance of 
 Mrs. Parkington, Mrs. Masterman's cook, as 
 she stood in the road behind the station, ex- 
 pectant of a line of flymen, and was confronted 
 by the steep and shelterless side of an outside- 
 car, and was requested by its driver to "sit 
 up" upon it. The driver wore a black 
 slouched hat; he had a fair moustache, and
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 23 
 
 blue eyes that smiled upon Mrs. Parkington 
 with the ineradicable Irish interest in other 
 people, and more especially strangers. Not 
 thus did London cabmen regard Mrs. Parking- 
 ton. She mounted the car. A woman with a 
 black shawl over her head and a basf of meal 
 on her back deferred her private concerns to 
 gaze reverentially at the proceedings, as at a 
 miracle play enacted for her sole benefit. She 
 tucked in the housemaid's rug, and with a 
 rallying eye at the carman (whom she 
 addressed as "Jimmy"), told him he had his 
 load now, and let him mind it. The cars 
 clattered and swung up an outlying street of 
 the small town of Cloon, with its low slate 
 roofs, and its succession of greedy dingy public- 
 houses, and out into the open country. The 
 long grey road was patched with broken 
 stones ; the ragamuffin walls wandered be- 
 side it, sometimes half lost in veils of briars ; 
 white cottages, stark and bare, hailed each 
 other across wide intervals of the green 
 country. Back of all was the blueness and the 
 spirituality of a line of mountains. The air 
 was warm with sunshine, and sweet with the 
 smells of autumn and of turf smoke. The 
 cavalcade turned up a by-road, and jingled 
 pleasantly along the southern base of a line of
 
 24 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 hills, low but steep ; the sun smote upon their 
 mantle of furze and bracken, and below the 
 road, to the left, a little vagrant lake burned 
 blue among pale reeds — the tremendous blue of 
 bogwater under a clear sky. The road pre- 
 sently dived into a small fir wood — the first 
 trees encountered by the expedition — and 
 turned steeply uphill. As the cars crawled up 
 it, the voice of Mrs. Parkington's charioteer 
 was audible, encouraging her and her fellow 
 Niobes with the information that there was 
 foxes in these hills as plenty as rabbits. 
 
 At the top of the hill a narrow entrance 
 gate presented itself. 
 
 " This is Lake View for you ! " said the 
 leading driver to his fares. "Stoop your 
 heads now ! " 
 
 They dived in between low-hanging 
 branches of fuchsia, still tasselled with crimson 
 blossoms, and up a narrow drive, with big 
 hydrangea bushes on either side pushing blue 
 and pink blooms into their faces. Then the 
 house, small, pale-yellow, and not unpleasing, 
 with two windows on either side of the hall 
 door, and five overhead. A rusty kitchen- 
 range lay on its face upon the grass in front, as 
 if in despair ; several bicycles were propped 
 against each other and the shrubs. Mrs.
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 25 
 
 Masterman and Miss Rowan descended stiffly 
 from their car and advanced cautiously 
 through the open door into the hall. There 
 were voices in the house, and footsteps. 
 
 " ' Child Rowland to the dark tower came,' " 
 whispered Katharine. " I'm rather frightened. 
 I believe it's the wrong house ! " 
 
 " I have Katharine's room finished now ! " 
 a female voice cried jovially from the top of the 
 stairs. " I hope she'll say a prayer for me in 
 it ! Have you the teacups unpacked, girls ? 
 I'm dead for want of tea ! " 
 
 '• Well, you'll have time to be buried before 
 John Michael makes the fire burn ! " screamed 
 another voice, seemingly from the kitchen, 
 the voice of Mrs. Delanty, emancipated from 
 the trammels of society. " Come on down, 
 Eily!" 
 
 Mrs. Delanty's tenants retreated precipi- 
 tately to the hall door and rang the bell. 
 
 •*Ah, what good is John Michael! 
 I'll ..." the voice died away, as when the 
 wind goes suddenly out of a harmonium, and 
 there was a rustling rush overhead. The bell 
 completed its summons. 
 
 " Eily ! Eily !" hissed the voice, " they've 
 come ! The people have come ! " 
 
 " What a fool I am ! " returned Mrs.
 
 26 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 Delanty in high sarcasm. " Sure, they haven't 
 left Cork yet ! It's the boy with the cosy 
 corner. Open the door for him, John 
 Michael!" 
 
 A door opened and a young man took two 
 strides into the hall, and stood paralysed. His 
 eyes met those of Mrs. Masterman in dumb, 
 defenceless agony. 
 
 " I'm afraid we have arrived earlier than 
 we were expected, " said Mrs. Masterman, 
 apologetically. 
 
 The young man, still in agony, murmured 
 something unintelligible ; there was a confused 
 scurry in the kitchen, a chair fell down, and 
 Mrs. Delanty came gallantly into action, 
 palpably pulling herself together. Her head 
 was tied up in a brilliantly coloured handker- 
 chief that immediately recalled to Katharine 
 the market at Aix ; her voice, as she welcomed 
 the newcomers, had recovered the accent that 
 it had worn there. 
 
 She had had friends to lunch ; they had come 
 over to see the little house ; they had been 
 trying whether the new range would burn ; and 
 this was Mr. Fitz-Symons, who had happened 
 to come over about earth-stopping. Mrs. 
 Delanty, still explanatory, herded her tenants 
 into the drawing-room, from the window of
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 27 
 
 which Miss Rowan presently viewed, not with- 
 out sympathy, the flight, upon bicycles, of three 
 unknown young women (one of whom she was 
 to remember in her prayers). A moment later, 
 and with even deeper compassion, she caught 
 sight of Mr. John Michael Fitz-Symons, 
 fleeing as a bird unto the hill ; perhaps to 
 Inspect the earths, possibly to take refuge in 
 one of them.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 <( 
 
 T 
 
 OM COYNE saw him going In off the 
 road over a stone gap yesterday, on 
 that roan horse of O'Callaghan's," 
 said Mr. Augustus Fitz-Symons, to his step- 
 brother John Michael, as he stood commandingly 
 on an island among the puddles in his stable- 
 yard. " He's a swaggering young pup, by all I 
 can hear ! " 
 
 John Michael, who was thoughtfully painting 
 with Condy's fluid a white patch on the knee of 
 a chestnut mare, paused, and looked up. 
 
 "Ye'd put four children between himself 
 and the saddle," said Tom Coyne, with pre- 
 cision and simplicity, while he swiftly applied a 
 water-brush to the mane of his master's 
 elephantine brown horse. 
 
 " That roan's a big-jumped horse," said 
 John Michael, repulsing without resentment 
 the muddy blandishments of a broken-haired 
 foxterrier, " we might see some sport if he's 
 on him to-day." 
 
 28
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 29 
 
 "If you'd attend to your own business, 
 that'd be sport enough for you," said Mr. Fitz- 
 Symons, loosing his thong venomously at 
 Dhoosh the terrier. " Look at your boots the 
 way they are after that dirty brute ! Hurry on 
 now and have done with that nonsense ! Do 
 you think there's one in the country doesn't 
 know her knees are broken ? " 
 
 The master pushed his stirrup on to his 
 toe, and with an effort, swung his long thick 
 leg over the back of the brown elephant. 
 
 " Don't you hear what I'm saying to you ? 
 Get away down and get the hounds out, and 
 hurry on you too, Tom Coyne ! Don't forget 
 to tell Bridget she'll get the sack if she lets 
 that harness-room fire out again ! There isn't 
 one of you's worth a curse ! " 
 
 Tom Coyne darted like a rabbit into an 
 adjoining stable and burst from it again on his 
 horse's back, with little more than an inch be- 
 tween his spine and the top of the doorway, 
 according to the precarious practice of his class. 
 
 Hunting mornings broke stormily, and with 
 anything but their conventional joviality, in 
 Mr. Fitz-Symons's establishment, and it was 
 well understood that the mood of the master 
 was not one to be trilled with. His step- 
 mother knew it, and did not fail to leave the
 
 30 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 whisky on the sideboard ; it gave tone to the 
 stomach, she said. John Michael knew it, and 
 was wont at breakfast time to inquire tactfully 
 after the injured riding-muscle that gave such 
 moral support to Mr. Fitz-Symons on days 
 when the fences looked big. Tom Coyne 
 knew it too, but beyond shortening by a link 
 or two the brown horse's curb chain on frosty 
 mornings, he took no special precautions. 
 There was one thing that Tom Coyne would 
 not do for his master, or any one else, and that 
 was to shorten the brown horse's oats. 
 
 This morning was not frosty ; it was rough 
 and soft, as became the south-west of Ireland, 
 and Sam, the brown horse, proceeded with be- 
 coming gravity along the wet grey road, pay- 
 ing no more attention to the ever-shifting 
 hounds that surrounded him than an ironclad 
 does to a school of porpoises. John Michael, 
 the Whip, and Tom Coyne, general utility man, 
 jogged astern, incessantly and unconsciously 
 studying the hounds, and exchanging confidences 
 about them, and, indeed, anything else that 
 occurred to them, on terms of perfect equality. 
 John Michael's velvet cap had greenish high- 
 lights ; the skirts of his scarlet coat were stained, 
 as if with black currant jam, by the mud of 
 many a boggy ditch, and the toe of one of his
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 31 
 
 boots had been bitten by a fox in a way that 
 defied mending ; in fact, Mr. Fitz-Symons had 
 said that the devil might mend it, and the 
 matter had ended there. 
 
 John Michael was a younger brother of the 
 old-fashioned tribal type, who existed happily, 
 and pennilessly, under the suzerainty of his 
 elder brother. There had, indeed, been a vague 
 period when he was "going to be a doctor," 
 during which he had acquired by some process 
 of natural selection such facts as were of value 
 to him when he relapsed into the state to which 
 he was born, kennel-boy, stable-helper, and his 
 mother's right-hand man. His dark good-looks 
 suggested some vagrant strain of the Spanish 
 blood that has touched the western coast-people 
 of Ireland, and warmed them like the Gulf- 
 stream ; his greatly-admiring mother had many 
 times asserted that if 'Gustus would only give 
 Johnny the money to go to England, some rich 
 lady would treat herself to him. 
 
 Nothing, it may be said, was farther from 
 the aspirations of John Michael than the career 
 of a professional beauty. The process of earn- 
 ing a livelihood presented itself to him in but one 
 form, that of picking up a " likely colt," and 
 " passing him on." What remained of his 
 mental horizon was occupied by the hounds ;
 
 32 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 and, after all, there are many horizons less 
 desirably filled. 
 
 The footing of Mr. Fitz-Symons's Hunt, as a 
 Hunt, is not easily defined. It had once been 
 a " Sunday Pack " of harriers ; it had spent a 
 summer as otter hounds ; and, having had a 
 relapse into hare-hunting, this time on a conven- 
 tional week-day basis, it had remained for Mr. 
 Augustus Fitz-Symons to lead it as a bride to 
 the altar, and there to bestow upon it his own 
 Mastership, and the title of Mr. Fitz-Symons's 
 Foxhounds. Their entry into legitimate drama 
 was regarded with unassuageable suspicion and 
 contempt by the lawful three-days-a-week 
 county pack, the X.H., on whose outskirts 
 they lay. The position of the X.H. was the 
 well recognized one of not wishing to draw the 
 disputed country themselves, and of strenuously 
 combating the right of any one else to do so. 
 But Mr. Fitz-Symons had not for nothing 
 started in life as a solicitor ; he had written 
 letters that had commanded the reluctant 
 respect of the X.H. committee, and (which 
 was more to the point) had thereby brought 
 about what the sporting papers called " an amic- 
 able arrangement." This meant that Mr. Fitz- 
 Symons carried his point, and that the X.H. 
 reserved to themselves the privilege of being
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 33 
 
 aggrieved for all time, and of planting out their 
 best and most blistering hunting-stories upon the 
 upstarts. It also meant that when a visitor from 
 the X.H. came over the border, he found him- 
 self going as he seldom went in his own country ; 
 while the young bloods of the Fitz-Symons 
 regime, filled with jealousy as with new wine, 
 mobbed him as small birds mob a rook, and, 
 as such a one, limping home embittered, is 
 reported to have said, "they belted the family 
 coach-horses to that degree that not one of 
 their mothers could drive to her prayers the 
 next Sunday." 
 
 When Mr. Fitz-Symons rode at the head of 
 his sixteen and a half couples into the village of 
 Kyleroe, he was immediately and pleasurably 
 aware of the presence of two beautifully attired 
 strangers, a young lady and a young gentleman, 
 among the dozen or so of riders that awaited 
 him there. This moment of arrival at the 
 meet was the one that compensated Mr. Fitz- 
 Symons for many that went before it, even for 
 many that came after. It was then that he 
 skimmed the cream of his position, and enjoyed 
 the maximum of pictorial effect with the 
 minimum of danger. He took off his cap with 
 a largeness that displayed not only the geniality 
 of the typical M.F.H., but also the fact that at 
 
 D
 
 34 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 eight-and-forty his sleek black hair had little 
 cause to fear the daylight. His importance, his 
 long and imposing nose, the sacerdotal dignity 
 of his smile, would have become a Bishop at a 
 Church Conofress. 
 
 His liock, it must be admitted, were less 
 decorative. It was but disjointedly, and in spots, 
 that they conformed to the usual standards of 
 costume in the hunting-field, and the excess- 
 ively fashionable pink coat of the strange 
 young gentleman had as advantageous a back- 
 ground as even its owner could have desired. 
 Of the local contingent every member under- 
 stood minutely what each of his fellows might 
 or might not do at any given juncture ; even 
 better each knew what the horses of his fellows 
 were good for. The sight of an unknown 
 young lady, arriving with Mrs. Delanty, on 
 Mrs. Delanty's Dermot — and it was immedi- 
 ately noted that Dermot and the young lady 
 were not enjoying one another's society — was 
 sufficiently stirring, but the arrival of the young 
 gentleman on the long-tailed chestnut (grudg- 
 ingly assessed by every man present at three 
 figures) was a much more serious affair. 
 
 "That's a great dandy!" Mr. Clery, the 
 mill-owner, murmured to young Doyle. " Is he 
 any good ? "
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 35 
 
 " How would I know !" said young Doyle, 
 eyeing- the stranger with the resentment proper 
 to the occasion. " He's by the way of learning 
 
 farming down at X . I believe he failed 
 
 for the Army. They say he's full of money. 
 There was a fellow from that side told me he'd 
 ride a sparra across a country ! He mightn't 
 do it here ! " 
 
 " Well, that flash chestnut he's riding has no 
 more body on him than a crow ! " rejoined Mr. 
 Clery, and felt something comforted. 
 
 Both gentlemen here became absorbed in 
 the spectacle of the presentation to the Master 
 of Mrs. Delanty's lady friend. 
 
 " I'm told she has /"800 a year," said young 
 Doyle, reverentially. He himself had £So, 
 and kept a horse on it. 
 
 "She's a stylish-looking girl," said Mr. Clery, 
 eyeing Katharine with much-enhanced interest. 
 " She could do without it better than some." 
 
 " Did ye hear she gave the widow seventy- 
 five sovereigns for that brown horse of hers ? " 
 said Mr. Doyle. 
 
 " God help her ! " said Mr. Clery. 
 
 "I'm not saying it's not i)aying for every 
 hair in his tail," said young Doyle, "but if 
 there was any one would ride him out, he's a 
 good little horse."
 
 36 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 A sun that was like a polished pewter plate 
 looked out through trailing scarves of mist as 
 the hounds moved off to draw Knockcarron 
 Wood. At the master's stirrup ran Andy 
 Norris, poacher, shoemaker, and earth-stopper, 
 proclaiming his achievements with chapter and 
 verse. 
 
 " Two and twenty big holes I had closed 
 before it was making day, let alone the badgers' 
 dins that I shut last night ! Look ! I put a 
 nick in the stick for every hole of them ! " 
 
 He held up a notched hazel rod. 
 
 "If you'd shut your mouth I'd be as well 
 pleased," replied Mr. Fitz-Symons, descending 
 abruptly from the plane of the Church 
 Congress. 
 
 Crushing against his horse's heels, the 
 hounds pattered meekly in the mud, discreetly 
 ignoring the curs that shrieked and yapped at 
 them from the cottage doorways, ever mindful 
 of the detonating thongs of John Michael and 
 Tom Coyne. The Field jogged behind them, 
 that jog behind hounds, which, coming at the 
 beginning of the day, is frequently a more 
 strenuous affair for the rider than the word 
 would suggest. Mrs. Delanty's friend, on 
 Mrs. Delanty's brown horse, was sitting her 
 tightest (which was not very tight), and holding
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 37 
 
 her hardest ; a loop of pale hair had already 
 detached itself from the heavy plaits at the 
 back of her head, and the colour had mounted 
 to the brim of her hat, which was not as 
 straight as it might have been. Mrs. Delanty's 
 eye, as she watched her disciple, was not 
 devoid of anxiety. 
 
 The " flash chestnut," with his back up, and 
 his neck arched to iron, was showing off gener- 
 ously ; his rider, with a cigarette wedged in 
 the corner of his mouth, strove, not ineffectu- 
 ally, to sustain that expression of wearied calm 
 that has been created and perfected by the 
 motor man. He was a lengthy youth, with a 
 large nose, and he wore his hat slightly on the 
 back of his head ; a close observer — in other 
 words, Mr. Clery — could perceive an occasional 
 nibble with the spurs when the enthusiasm of 
 the chestnut showed symptoms of waning. 
 
 "It's well to be young!" thought Mr. 
 Clery, indulgently. 
 
 Jimmy Doyle said to himself: "That's a 
 quality horse, but wait till we see him coming 
 down the south side of Skeagh ! " 
 
 " Crammer's pup ! " summarized old Captain 
 Bolger, who had been in the Militia. 
 
 The road ran between hills, brown and 
 abrupt on one hand, low and green on the other.
 
 38 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 Between the road and the wood glided in full 
 flight the little Carron river, hung over by the 
 trees whose roots it had undermined ; some- 
 times quiet and dimpling and deep, sometimes 
 falling into sudden and passionate combat with 
 brown-backed boulders ; purposeful, self-en- 
 grossed, darkly romantic, and by no means an 
 agreeable little river to deal with for those 
 who wish to leave Knockcarron Wood in a 
 hurry when hounds are slipping away outside 
 it. Half a mile from the village the boundary 
 wall of Knockcarron Wood was reached, and 
 the Master drew rein. The shoemaker darted 
 forward, lifted an old iron gate off its hinges, 
 and flung it inside the wall ; the hounds 
 pressed after him and burst into the wood, 
 headed by Dhoosh the terrier, leaving their 
 master in the act of uncovering his head, and 
 thus depriving him of another of his best 
 moments, that of gracefully capping hounds 
 into covert. Mr. Fitz-Symons was, however, 
 a man of resource. He turned to Miss Rowan, 
 whose mount had not relaxed his efforts till 
 he had established himself at the Master's 
 elbow. 
 
 " That's the way I like to see hounds go 
 into covert, Miss Rowan ! Ready to eat it ! 
 John Michael ! " he continued, "go on through
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 39 
 
 the wood with them ! Let you watch the back 
 of the covert, Tom Coyne ; and Andy Norris, 
 away with you and knock that gap at the 
 western end for us." 
 
 These orders having been issued with 
 Wellingtonian severity, and obeyed in respect- 
 ful silence, Mr. Fitz-Symons, still in the grand 
 manner, placed himself across the gateway, 
 and faced the Field, like Horatius on the 
 Bridge. 
 
 There was a convention that Mr. Fitz- 
 Symons was his own Huntsman. Mrs. De- 
 lanty, talking to Captain Bolger a few yards 
 away, heard the Master, as she had so often 
 heard him before, instructing the newcomer 
 in the tragic history of the riding-muscle, how 
 it interfered with liis handling of his hounds 
 in the thick coverts, " where a Huntsman had 
 more walking to do than a man that would be 
 beating for cock," how he had trained his step- 
 brother, who was an active fellow — though 
 not as active as he had been himself — to take 
 them through the coverts for him ; and how 
 owing to his — Mr. Fitz-Symons's supreme 
 knowledge of the country and the foxes, he 
 could always "catch a hold" of his hounds, 
 once they got away. This was an attitude in 
 conversation in which Mrs. Delanty was herself
 
 40 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 an expert, and it seemed to her that the 
 Master's methods lacked subtlety. 
 
 " I suppose he's heard she's got money," 
 she said to herself, while she directed at the 
 venerable Bolger a glance that assured him 
 that all her thoughts were his. 
 
 Captain Bolger, on his part, while 
 assimilating the glance with enjoyment, said 
 to himself that the stranger must be English, 
 otherwise she would know better than to come 
 to the wrong side of the county, and live 
 cheek by jowl with the little widow. This 
 was ungrateful on the part of Captain Bolger. 
 As a matter of fact, when Mrs. Delanty had 
 come to live in the neighbourhood, he had let 
 her a house, and had simultaneously stated 
 that she reminded him of a French Marquise. 
 Some one else had bettered this by suggesting 
 an Italian countess; Mr. Fitz-Symons had 
 summarized her as " Continental looking, but a 
 perfect lady " ; and then all similes had been 
 extinguished by the discovery that she was 
 the daughter of a County Limerick butter 
 merchant, and had closed her educational career 
 by running away at the age of seventeen with a 
 Tipperary horse dealer. There came a sudden 
 pause in the enthusiasm for Mrs. Delanty 
 Nevertheless, the horse dealer being but
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 41 
 
 remotely involved (having broken his neck 
 in a point-to-point, some five years after his 
 marriage) JMrs. Delanty's dark eyes and arch- 
 ing eyebrows reasserted themselves, and after 
 a brief period of indecision, the neighbour- 
 hood resumed its acceptance of Mrs. Delanty, 
 with a comfortable sense of condescension, 
 even of compassion.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 UNTOUCHED by social cares, John 
 Michael, on Lottery the chestnut 
 mare, slipped away along a mossy 
 ride after his hounds. Upon him was the 
 pressing anxiety of providing sport for the 
 strangers ; in his heart was the knowledge 
 that there had been something far from re- 
 assuring about the reassurances of Andy Norris. 
 Knockcarron Wood could usually be trusted 
 to hold a fox, but much depended on the last 
 draw of the Kyleroe Coursing Club, the 
 members of which were as thoroughly friendly 
 and untrustworthy as their own horde of 
 brindled greyhounds and yellow curs. There 
 was that also about the deportment of the 
 hounds that led their huntsman to fear the 
 worst. He was now near the centre of the 
 wood, and so far nothing had happened. 
 Three or four couple had come out into the 
 ride, and were waiting for him in idleness and 
 frivolity. Patience, low be it breathed, was 
 
 42
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 43 
 
 sitting down and scratching herself, thought- 
 fully and luxuriously ; Pilgrim was rolling, 
 Charmer was nosing without interest a mossy 
 stone, and Rachel, John Michael's trusted 
 Rachel, was standing in the middle of the ride, 
 aimlessly waving her stern and smiling 
 benignly. 
 
 " He's not in it," thought John Michael 
 gloomily ; aloud, he said with ferocity — 
 
 "What are you at there, Rachel ! Hang- 
 ing about ! Ger' away there into covert ! " 
 
 Rachel turned upon him an eye of melting 
 love, showed her yellow old teeth in a grin of 
 apology, and whisked into the bracken and 
 briars among the stunted oak trees, accompanied 
 by her fellows and by the vituperations of John 
 Michael. After this came a prolonged silence, 
 broken only by the mellow admonitions of 
 John Michael to the unseen hounds, as he 
 slowly traversed the well-known passages of 
 the wood. 
 
 " Find him and push him out, m'lads ! 
 Hike ! try for him there ! " 
 
 A touch of the horn. 
 
 "Try! Try! Try!" 
 
 John Michael chanted his morninc,^ liturgy 
 in a very dulcet tenor voice ; a gabble ol 
 feverish yelps from a puppy was the only
 
 44 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 response. There followed immediately a 
 mighty crackling of withered briars, and a 
 rabbit shot like a bullet across the ride ; the 
 puppy, pursuing with ingenuous ardour, was 
 met in mid-chase by John Michael's thong, and 
 the thunders of the Riot Act. 
 
 "Confound it all!" said John Michael to 
 himself; while the puppy, who had no more 
 self-respect than the rest of her race, uttered 
 shameless lamentations. "If he was in it at 
 all they should have found him by now ! 
 Gustus'll be fit to be tied." 
 
 He knew that there was no question of 
 a fox slipping away unseen ; Tom Coyne, and 
 his retinue of Argus-eyed country boys, strung 
 out along the back of the wood, might be 
 trusted for that, and, as he moved down into a 
 shallow glen that divided the wood, he told 
 himself it was a bad chance, but if there was a 
 smell of him in the place at all they'd get 
 it there. 
 
 The path was wet and steep, and Lottery 
 picked her way down it as neatly as a dog. 
 She was quite free from the usual pretensions 
 and limitations of her kind. She neither 
 ramped, nor fussed, nor feared ; she zigzagged 
 among humps of rock ; she crept, braced and 
 tense, on tables of slate over which the spring
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 45 
 
 water ran thinly ; when it was advisable to 
 slide, she tucked her tail in and slid ; and John 
 Michael gave her her head, or as much of it as 
 was fitting for her to have, and watched his 
 hounds forcing their way down through the 
 undergrowth, with the tips of their sterns 
 reddened by thorns. His questing eyes were 
 gray and green, as if they had caught up 
 the colours of the rocks and the woods ; the 
 craft of the woods was in them too, but of 
 other craft there was none. 
 
 There was no fox in all the length and 
 breadth of the glen, and it was at the end of it, 
 while the hounds were looking reproachfully at 
 John Michael, and John Michael was praying 
 that an earthquake might swallow up the 
 village of Kyleroe with its poachers and its 
 cur-dogs, that he heard voices ahead of him in 
 smooth and continuous conversation. He 
 groaned, recognizing the elaborately refined 
 voice of Mrs. Delanty. 
 
 " Gus has let the lot o' them into the 
 wood ! " he thought, with the unconquerable 
 enmity that is set between the Huntsman and 
 the Field. " Well, it makes no difference 
 now ! 
 
 "... Ah, she can't hold poor Dermot," 
 the voice said indulgently, " he never pulled
 
 46 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 me an ounce after the first day I rode him. All 
 he wants is to be alone with the hounds ! We 
 had some of the biggest banks I ever rode in 
 this country, that day, and he never put an 
 iron on one of them ! " 
 
 '• It'd be hard for him ! " thought John 
 Michael, who remembered Mrs. Delanty's first 
 day out on Dermot, and the masterly manner 
 in which she had wrested the lanes to her 
 purpose. 
 
 He emerged into the ride. 
 
 "Oh, there you are, Mr. Johnny," said Mrs. 
 Delanty gaily, "what good are you that you 
 haven't a fox for us } You don't know Mr. 
 Fanshawe? This is our huntsman, Mr. Fan- 
 shawe, but he's called the Whip ! You mustn't 
 make any mistake about that when you're 
 talking to his big brother ! " 
 
 Mr. Fanshawe (summarized by Captain 
 Bolger as a Crammer's Pup) bore up as best 
 he might against the intricacies of this introduc- 
 tion, and was spared a reply by the sudden 
 irruption of the Master into the ride. 
 
 " What the devil are ye at here, John 
 Michael ? There's hounds hunting, back at 
 the western end of the wood ! You must have 
 drawn over him ! " 
 
 Whatever John Michael's private opinions
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FQX 47 
 
 were he kept them to himself. The chestnut 
 mare swung round, and went away down the 
 ride with that headlong yet collected speed 
 that is learned in the school of adversity by the 
 hunt-servant's horse. Behind her sped the 
 hounds, mystified but hopeful, and behind them 
 pounded the riders, tasting the doubtful joy of 
 following their leaders at speed in a wood. At 
 a junction with another ride John Michael 
 pulled up and listened. What he heard was 
 the ridiculous voice of Dhoosh, the kennel 
 terrier, squeaking an octave above the average 
 canary, and the robuster tones of Why-not, the 
 biggest babbler in the pack, in hot and eager 
 duet. It did not satisfy John Michael, but it 
 was enough for the rest of the hounds. In the 
 pose dear to photographers of hunts, they 
 stood and stared for a moment as one man, the 
 next, they were gone, also as one man. 
 
 John Michael followed them through the 
 trees, and the Master sat still, with his hand 
 up. There was a pause, during which Miss 
 Rowan tried to drag her habit down over her 
 right foot, with a hand stiff and shaking from the 
 implacable tug of Dermot, then, from outside 
 the wood, came a shout, distant and hilarious. 
 
 " Be-jove, he's away!" said Mr. Fitz- 
 Symons, sticking out his elbows, and hustling
 
 48 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 right-handed down a narrow path, with his 
 followers squeezing, bumping, and jostling be- 
 hind him. A minute or two took them to a 
 gateway at the edge of the wood, to something 
 at least that had been a gateway, and was now 
 a formidable *' gap " of loose stones, tufted with 
 branches of furze. 
 
 The Master stopped short, and inquired of 
 the elements, with a special reference to the 
 lower regions, why Andy Norris had not 
 pulled down the gap. 
 
 No answer being forthcoming, and the 
 pressure from behind increasing, Mr. Fitz- 
 Symons leaned forward and endeavoured with 
 a practised hand to pull down the obstruction 
 with the crook of his crop ; but Sam, the brown 
 horse, knew from experience what it felt like to 
 have big stones falling on his toes, and swung 
 away from the wall with the activity of a polo 
 pony. 
 
 The way was clear for the next comer, and 
 Mr. Fanshawe charged the gap, driving his 
 spurs into the chestnut with quite unnecessary 
 zeal, and receiving in return a generous lift, as 
 his horse flourished over the topmost furze 
 spike, while the two bucks that followed on 
 landing provided — according to Tom Coyne's 
 standard of measurement — accommodation for
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 49 
 
 an Infant school between rider and saddle. 
 After him came Jimmy Doyle on his black mare, 
 inevitable and unobtrusive ; Katharine was 
 next, redfaced, panting, and torn by doubts as 
 to whether it was manners for her to precede 
 the Master, who was engaged in the singular 
 process of beating his horse and simultaneously 
 pulling him backwards into a briar-patch. She 
 looked back to Mrs. Delanty for counsel, and 
 found herself gazing into the expressionless 
 countenance of Mr. Clery. Mrs. Delanty had 
 disappeared. 
 
 " Give him his head. He'll jump that right 
 enough," said Mr. Clery. 
 
 Miss Rowan obeyed ; Dermot pivoted 
 round on his hind legs, cannoned into the 
 Master and Sam in the briar-patch, was some- 
 how or other straightened at the jump again, 
 and, in the critical instant before a second 
 refusal, received a startling reminder from Mr. 
 Clery's thong that caused him to bounce in 
 some disorder over the wall, taking down the 
 greater part of it with his hind legs. 
 
 Katharine was not very clear as to what 
 had happened, but when she recovered herself 
 she found that she was, at all events, back in 
 the saddle, and out of the wood, and Mr. Fan- 
 shawe's red coat was blazing like a beacon in
 
 50 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 front of her. She heard Mr. Clery's voice 
 behind her. 
 
 " I'm sure we're all greatly obliged to you! 
 You softened the gap nicely for us ! " 
 
 " I'm so sorry ! I hope it doesn't matter/ 
 gasped the benefactress, struggling to readjust 
 her reins to an even length. " I hope the 
 Master doesn't mind my having gone in front 
 of him.?" 
 
 " He'll forgive you," replied Mr. Clery, in 
 his sententious, humorous voice. 
 
 Katharine galloped on, bewildered, because 
 everything and everybody was so wholly unlike 
 what she had expected ; uncomfortable, because 
 the ground was heathery and rough, and 
 Dermot was pulling harder than ever. 
 
 Mr. Clery and Jimmy Doyle then passed 
 out of existence, and she was aware only of 
 the beacon red coat, pushing on up the lower 
 slope of a steep brown hill that faced the 
 covert. Of the hounds nothing was visible, 
 but on the ridge of the hill were figures 
 shouting and pointing. She found the hill 
 growing momently steeper, and the beacon 
 began to take it in zig-zags ; there was a howl 
 from the hilltop, and the figures vanished, 
 leaving the skyline bare and quite unsuggestive. 
 Mr. Fanshawe, upon this portent, attempted a
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 51 
 
 frontal attack, by what might have been a 
 sheep track, seemed suddenly to realize that he 
 was attempting the impossible, and precipitately 
 dismounted. Katharine's saddle was slipping 
 back, and a disquieting view of Dermot's back- 
 bone was being presented to her ; Dermot was 
 blown, but retained his determination to follow 
 his leader. 
 
 "I say! I think you'd better get off!" 
 called the leader from above. " You can't get 
 on and you can't turn. It's a beast of a place ! " 
 
 Katharine obeyed. That is to say she 
 flung herself in a heap into a bush of heather, 
 and Dermot, twitching the reins out of her 
 hand, continued with inveterate sociability to 
 struggle upwards. When Miss Rowan arose, 
 not without difficulty, from her couch of heather, 
 Mr. Fanshawe was in the pleasing position of 
 holding two horses, one perched precariously 
 above him, the other seemingly determined on 
 rushing the position from below. 
 
 " Can you catch him if I turn him down to 
 you ? " 
 
 It is a bad thing for a man's temper to 
 be thrown out of a hunt, but when it also 
 happens that a woman — so Mr. Fanshawe 
 expressed it to himself— has piled herself up 
 on his back, he does not, as a rule, succeed in
 
 52 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 disguising his emotions. " I can't stay here 
 much longer ! " Mr. Fanshawe here thrust 
 the emulous Dermot from him and started him 
 downhill again with a thoroughly unfriendly 
 whack. Katharine felt extremely dubious of 
 being able to do what she was desired, but she 
 realized that if Dermot were a live bomb, or 
 a mad bull, the thing must be attempted. 
 Dermot, however, had not for nothing been 
 " r'ared very pettish on lump sugar" (as Mrs. 
 Delanty's stable-boy had complained). He 
 crept cautiously downwards, as became a horse 
 who had spent the first years of his life on the 
 side of a furzy hill, and even stood still and 
 permitted his rider to climb on to a rock, and 
 thence drag herself into the saddle. 
 
 " They're in the next parish by now ! " said 
 her much-tried companion, stumbling down the 
 track behind her, in pallid wrath. " Would you 
 kindly let me pass ? " 
 
 Mr. Fanshawe felt that the age of chivalry 
 was past, and rightly so. There was a brief 
 moment of collision, a slither, and a scramble, 
 and the chestnut was ahead, avalanching and 
 glissading to the bottom of the hill. 
 
 There Mr. Fanshawe pulled up and 
 listened. There was nothing to be heard but 
 the barking of dogs at a distant farm-house,
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 53 
 
 nothing to be seen but the long, purple-brown 
 expanse of the wood, with a hawk hanging in 
 the wind above the tree-tops, and between the 
 hill and the covert a narrow stretch of grass, 
 dinted with hoof-tracks that bore away to the 
 right. 
 
 When it comes to catching hounds by 
 means of hoof-dints and the barking of cur- 
 dogs, the case is next door to desperate. 
 Defeated and exasperated, the two comrades 
 in misfortune followed the hoof-tracks, and as 
 they galloped, in the dismal fuss of those who 
 pursue a vanished hunt, each inwardly said 
 that it was the other's fault. 
 
 They had not to endure it long. The 
 space between wood and hill closed in to a 
 narrow passage, in which the guiding tracks 
 were swallowed in mire. Mr. Fanshawe 
 dashed into the slough ; Miss Rowan splashed 
 in after him, and the black mud spattered cold 
 on her face and made big blots on the red coat 
 of her leader. Beyond the slough the wood 
 swelled outwards and the track widened ; the 
 forlorn hope galloped, and, still galloping, 
 found itself swinging round a corner where the 
 wood receded again and formed a bay. A 
 pleasant sward lay in the shelter, and it was here, 
 without any warning, that the matter ended.
 
 54 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 The hounds were there, seated in a 
 decorous group, and the Field was there too, 
 standing about conversationally and eating 
 sandwiches. 
 
 " No hurry ! " said Jimmy Doyle politely, 
 as the long-tailed chestnut, with his chin on 
 his chest, banged into the black mare from 
 behind. 
 
 " Well, you and Miss Rowan look as if you 
 had been round the world for sport ! " said 
 JNIrs. Delanty to Mr. Fanshawe, as, closely 
 attended by the devoted Dermot, he tugged 
 his horse to a standstill beside her. " You've 
 ridden a great finish anyhow ! Weve had a 
 hunt, and a kill too ! Haven't we, Mr. 
 Fitz-Symons ! " 
 
 The master made as if he heard not, and 
 moved away. 
 
 " Look at his cross old back ! " tittered 
 Mrs. Delanty. " I declare I'm almost afraid 
 to tell you what happened ! " 
 
 Katharine was not accustomed to feeling 
 like a fool, or to behaving like one, but it 
 appeared that hunting in Irish backwoods was 
 to enlarge her horizon in these respects. She 
 looked round upon these Philistines, with their 
 strange voices and their esoteric jokes, for 
 whom she and her fellow alien had been
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 55 
 
 making sport, and even as she did so, and met 
 the parrot eye of old Bolger, with the with- 
 held wink in it, she realized that these were 
 jovial Philistines, with a kindly feeling for a 
 fool. 
 
 " Well, you see, there were a couple of 
 young hounds, and the kennel terrier," said 
 Mr. Clery, in mild and leisurely narrative, 
 " and they were very anxious for a bit of fun, 
 and Vv^hat did they meet only the keeper's cat, 
 that was rabbitino- there too. He came out 
 over the wall here, the poor fellow." Mr. 
 Clery paused, and regarded Katharine's 
 splashed face. " You should ask Mr. 
 Fitz-Symons for the brush." 
 
 " What ! " broke in Fanshawe, feeling a 
 little better. " D'ye mean to say that's all 
 they've done ? Killed a cat ? " 
 
 •' It was a very fine cat," replied Mr. Clery 
 reprovingly.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 THERE exists in Ireland (and probably 
 elsewhere, though less frankly ad- 
 mitted) a standard of cleanliness 
 which is embodied in the phrase, " If 'twill do, 
 'twill do." It is a useful working principle, 
 containing a good deal of. sound common sense, 
 but it is occasionally broken in upon by spasms 
 of reformation, the revolt, perhaps, of the 
 artistic nature against monotony, the outcome, 
 more frequently, of the simple desire to impress 
 the stranger. The deep, calvinistic heart of 
 the English spring-cleaning is not in it ; it is 
 a freak, not a religious exercise. 
 
 On the Monday following the slaughter of 
 the cat, a spasm of reform, of special severity, 
 convulsed the Ashgrove kennels. It was 
 inaugurated by a surprise visit from the master 
 himself, John Michael was away at a fair, 
 selling sheep for his mother, and his elder 
 brother made the almost unheard-of effort of 
 visiting his kennels before breakfast, that is to 
 
 56
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 57 
 
 say, at the liberal hour of 8.30, with a liver 
 just sufficiently touched up by a north-east 
 wind to stimulate the critical faculty. He then 
 found the hounds still immured in their sleeping 
 apartment ; the outer door of the feeding yard 
 had been left open, and in it two donkeys 
 mused, like the gravedigger in Hamlet^ over 
 the remains of a comrade, who had progressed 
 from the boiler to a wheelbarrow, and there 
 awaited further developments. Save for a thin 
 wisp of smoke, the abode of the kennel-boy, 
 some fifty yards away, showed no sign of life. 
 Mr. Fitz-Symons advanced upon it ; as he did 
 so the kennel-boy's mother burst forth, and, 
 in the shock of meeting the master, revealed 
 that she was on her way to " let out the dogs 
 into the yard." 
 
 Mr. Fitz-Symons' receptionof this intelligence 
 need not be set down, but it at once drove the 
 kennel-boy's mother into the higher realms of 
 fancy. She declared that there was not a day 
 in the year that that lillle boy wouldn't let 
 a yowl out of himself, below in the kennels, 
 at five o'clock in the morning, but, she called 
 Heaven to witness, he had a gumboil inside in 
 his mouth this three days, and he was dead 
 with it ; it would take him six months to 
 eat a biscuit.
 
 58 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 "I can tell you what," returned Mr. 
 Fitz-Symons, with bilious ferocity, " if I catch 
 him again neglecting his work this way, I'll 
 knock a yowl out of him that he'll not forget 
 in a hurry ! " 
 
 •' May the Lord comfort your honour 
 long!" replied the kennel-boy's mother, who 
 had weathered worse storms than this. 
 
 It was during the same morning that 
 Captain Bolger stood at the open door of Ash- 
 mount House, and groped in the ivy for the 
 bell handle. 
 
 "Well, bad manners to you for a bell, 
 where are you ? " he soliloquized. " Would 
 the gong do as well, I wonder ? " 
 
 He advanced into the hall and sounded a 
 challenge; a voice from an adjoining room 
 replied : 
 
 " What a hurry ye're in ! Can't ye leave 
 it on the table." 
 
 " Is it myself I'm to leave on the table ? " 
 said Captain Bolger, regarding with composed 
 enjoyment the consternation of the pretty 
 maid-servant who followed the voice. 
 
 " Sure I thought it was the bread-boy," 
 she murmured in deep confusion. 
 
 ** If I was a young man that was coming 
 looking for you, I wouldn't make so much
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 59 
 
 noise about it ! " returned Captain Bolger 
 gallantly, " where's Master Johnny ? " 
 
 " He's at the fair, sir — The Mistress ? — " 
 an obvious hesitation. *' The Mistress is 
 out." 
 
 "Indeed then I am not!"" cried a jocund 
 voice from the farther side of a door, which, 
 on the words, was flung widely open, " I'm 
 below stairs this two hours, salting pork ! " 
 
 Mrs. Fitz-Symons came on with swift and 
 heavy tread, and a countenance that radiated 
 heat and hospitality. 
 
 " Never mind John Michael, Captain ! 
 Come in and sit down." She led him into the 
 dining-room. " There's a good fire here and 
 there's none in the drawing room. I never 
 have a fire in the drawing room unless there's 
 company, and I'm not going to make company 
 of you ! " 
 
 Captain Bolger, nothing loth, lowered him- 
 self into a roomy armchair in front of the fire, 
 and affected not to observe that Mrs. Fitz- 
 Symons was abstracting a decanter of port and 
 a cake from the sideboard. 
 
 " I came over to ask Johnny could he tell 
 me anything about a colt that McCarthy 
 Sowny is trying to sell me. Isn't he a tenant 
 of Gus's } "
 
 6o DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 "Indeed then he is!" said Mrs. Fitz 
 Symons, "and I wish he was yours! He 
 was here last week with the same colt, trying 
 would Gus have him in place of his rent — Gus 
 says he had no more bone than a little dog ! " 
 
 " Ho, ho ! " said Captain Bolger, taking, as 
 it were unconsciously, a sip of port. " Better 
 do without him if that's the way ! " 
 
 Mrs. Fitz-Symons picked up a half-knitted 
 stocking, and, seating herself at the other side 
 of the fire, began to knit in a comfortable and 
 conversational manner. The fact that she had 
 on her housekeeping apron, and a tweed cap 
 that had been discarded by her younger son, 
 did not disturb her in the least. 
 
 " Well, now, never mind about 'Gustus or 
 the colt either," she began. " What I want 
 to hear about is the new young lady ! " 
 
 "Gus is the man to tell you about her!" 
 said Captain Bolger, applying himself again to 
 his glass of port. 
 
 "Gus didn't tell me as much as if she had 
 a face on her ! That was because they had a 
 blank day, and the hounds made a fool of him 
 with a cat ! " replied Gus's step-mother, with 
 tranquil grasp of the position. 
 
 "Well and had Johnny nothing to say 
 about her either ? " said Captain Bolger, with
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 6i 
 
 the air of a man flying a kite to bring down 
 the lightning. 
 
 The lightning came. 
 
 "He said she rode twelve stone, and that 
 the widow's brown horse would have a sore 
 back after her to-day ! You'd know all about 
 her after that, wouldn't you ! " returned Mrs. 
 Fitz-Symons, witheringly. " I'd sooner ask Tom 
 Coyne any day, and I did too, and he told 
 me she was a fine handsome young lady, and 
 that she and the other lady had Lake View 
 taken for the whole winter. That was some- 
 thing, anyhow ! " 
 
 " Tom's a pretty good judge," said Captain 
 Bolger, "and did he tell you she has a fine 
 fortune too, and that's better than looks! If 
 you want to make a match for Johnny, you 
 should order out your phaeton and go and 
 see her for yourself ! " To himself he said, 
 " She's a cut above poor Johnny, I'm afraid ! " 
 
 " Oh never fear, I'll see her soon enough ! " 
 replied Mrs. Fitz-Symons. "I'm too old to 
 go calling on grand English ladies like them ! 
 They wouldn't be bothered with me ! " 
 
 " Cock them up ! " interjected the chivalrous 
 Captain Bolger. 
 
 " I'd be as well pleased without them 
 indeed," continued Mrs. Fitz-Symons, with
 
 62 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 complete sincerity, "but Johnny told me he 
 heard Gus talking to Mrs. Delanty about 
 coming over to see the kennels to-morrow and 
 to bring them with her. It's not Lily Delanty 
 he wants to show the kennels to at this time 
 of day ! " 
 
 " Times are changed ! " said Captain Bolger. 
 " Do you remember the kennel-coat he got 
 made for her the first year he had the 
 hounds?" 
 
 " Is it remember it ! " said Mrs. Fitz-Symons 
 with a laugh that was like the crow of a cock 
 pheasant. " Don't I wear it every day of my 
 life feeding the chickens ! " 
 
 " I'll tell her that ! " said Captain Bolger. 
 
 " You're welcome ! " said Mrs. Fitz-Symons. 
 *' Smoke your pipe now. I know you have 
 it in your pocket." 
 
 Captain Bolger took out his tobacco pouch 
 and proceeded to fill his pipe. " Well, well," 
 he mused, " when all's said and done Lily 
 Delanty's a taking little woman. That young 
 spark we had out hunting yesterday rode home 
 with her." 
 
 •' By what I hear of him she's old enough 
 to be his mother ! " 
 
 "Come now, it's not as bad as all that," 
 said Captain Bolger, applying himself to the
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 63 
 
 calculation of Mrs. Delanty's age with the zest 
 bestowed by elderly gentlemen on such a topic. 
 " She's had Lake View three years, and she 
 was pushing five and twenty when she came 
 here. I thought she and Johnny were about 
 the one age." Captain Bolger rolled his full blue 
 eyes at his hostess over the bowl of his pipe. 
 " You might remember that the people were 
 saying that time that they'd make a nice pair ! " 
 
 " Little the poor child thought about her ! " 
 exclaimed Mrs. Fitz-Symons, giving the fire an 
 indignant stab with the poker, " but indeed as 
 for her, the world knows she paid him every 
 court ! Knitting ties for him, and giving him 
 silver match-boxes, and tobacco-pouches, and 
 all sorts of trash ! Didn't I say to him 
 * Johnny, my lad, why wouldn't you ask her 
 for a breeches ' ? " 
 
 " Ho, ho, ho ! " roared Captain Bolger, 
 "that was something practical ! " 
 
 " Well, and wasn't it sense for me ? " 
 returned Mrs. Fitz-Symons, undaunted. " I 
 can tell you that's the lady that looks both 
 sides of a sixpence ! Didn't they say that 
 when Dclanty died she sold every stitch of 
 the poor man's clothes at the auction ! Boots 
 and breeches and all ! And herself out in tlie 
 town, cutting eights on her bicycle in front
 
 64 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 of the hotel, no more than a fortnight after 
 his death ! " 
 
 " Ah well, she mightn't do that for John 
 Michael," said Captain Bolger, soothingly. 
 
 Mrs. Fitz-Symons eyed him for a moment, 
 almost pityingly. 
 
 "She might not indeed," she said, "but 
 if you're asking me my opinion — and I'm not 
 saying you are — I don't think she'll get the 
 chance ! " 
 
 Mrs. Fitz-Symons was too much of an 
 artist to mar the calm of this statement by 
 any change of expression, but her knitting 
 needles flashed like rapiers.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 KATHARINE was an orphan and an 
 only child, circumstances for which 
 pity is conventionally due ; yet they 
 are not without their advantages. Having 
 spent a nomadic childhood in expensive schools, 
 and the residences of uncles and aunts, rich, 
 for the most part, and affectionate, she was 
 now, at the age of twenty-six, that rare and 
 enviable creature, an independent young 
 woman, enjoying to its ultimate half-crown 
 the income that would have been her eldest 
 brother's, had he existed. Her trustees passed 
 on to her, beautifully and inevitably, her 
 dividends, the straps of her trunks bounded 
 her responsibilities ; she was free to come and 
 go as she listed. The high gods looked down 
 in disapproval upon an existence so ideal, and 
 decreed that she should take upon herself the 
 care of a horse. 
 
 In the dark of the winter dawn, Katharme, 
 lying awake in deep brooding upon saddle- 
 room stoves, heard Dermot cough in his box. 
 F 6s
 
 66 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 Did horses get bronchitis ? Had she already 
 broken his wind ? She would telegraph for a 
 book on The Horse. Following on the cough 
 came bangs on the stable door ; was he calling 
 for help ? Caroline, the housemaid, who 
 answered her bell, opined that the poor 'orse 
 wanted his feed, and Caroline was an authority, 
 because her father was a cabman, and her 
 sister had driven in chariot races at Olympia. 
 It was apparent that fair as had been the 
 professions of Mr. Timothy McCarthy, her 
 new retainer, in the matter of early rising, he 
 had not lived up to them, and his employer 
 dressed moodily, composing an exordium that 
 should set forth his duties without revealing 
 her own ignorance. The exordium was 
 delivered with a fair show of confidence, but 
 was immediately countered by the statements 
 that the horse's legs was all filled up after the 
 night, and that the cook refused him the key 
 of the coal-house, and that it was an unnatural 
 kind of a stove that was in the harness-room. 
 She was also informed that he hadn't so much 
 as a pike to make up a bed. Miss Rowan 
 retired, worsted, to meditate upon that power 
 of placing a blameless employer in the wrong 
 that is so unsparingly wielded by even the 
 most lenient of servants. She also determined
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 67 
 
 to ask Jean Masterman if her experience of 
 the cavalry enabled her to throw any light 
 upon the nature and functions of a pike. 
 
 Katharine went round to the front of the 
 house. The sun was warm on her face, a 
 delicate warmth, like the kindness of a sensitive 
 hand. The breeze was light and westerly, and 
 had dinted the surface of the lake with little 
 sharp ripples ; between the stems of the fir 
 trees a flare of sunshine struck up from the 
 water, flakes and drifts of gold lingered on the 
 branches of the beeches, the sky was blue, the 
 boggy sweetness was in the air. Ulick Adare, 
 she thought, would have said it all very well 
 in an article ; one of those articles of his that 
 frightened her by their perceptiveness, not alone 
 of Nature. She sat down on a garden seat of 
 " rustic " habit, that partook of the general 
 meretricious discomfort of the Delanty furni- 
 ture, and thought a little about Ulick Adare. 
 Life would be impracticable if men, in addition 
 to their other advantages, were as perceptive 
 as women ; happily it was impossible to be 
 frightened by Ulick Adare ; with all his percep- 
 tion he was, like many of his countrymen, too 
 agreeable to be feared. If he did not change 
 his mind at the last moment he was to be with 
 them next week. His mind, he said, was too
 
 68 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 well balanced, and tilted responsively to every 
 grain of argument. She idly wondered if it 
 would tilt for a picture post-card, if such were 
 procurable. 
 
 " Katharine," said Jean Masterman, from 
 an upper window, " I've just had a note from 
 your friend Delanty. She will call here for us 
 with that youth in his motor at three o'clock, 
 and take us to the Kennels. Excellent little 
 woman ! She lost no time in getting her claws 
 into him ! She's worth ten of you / " 
 
 " I wonder you don't realize how monotonous 
 your point of view is ! " responded Katharine. 
 " Anyhow, no one can say that I did not run 
 after him yesterday out hunting ! " 
 
 "You don't know how to run ! " said Jean 
 Masterman, and withdrew from the window. 
 
 Mrs. Delanty was as good as her word. 
 At 3 o'clock Mr. Fanshawe's motor uttered its 
 summons at the gate, and Katharine and Mrs. 
 Masterman took their appointed places behind 
 him and the promoter of the expedition. The 
 distance was but five miles, but in these 
 matters time is " counted by heart throbs, not 
 by figures on a dial," and those who drove 
 with Mr. Fanshawe lived every moment, and 
 expected that each would be the last. As 
 Mrs. Masterman and Katharine bounded on
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 69 
 
 their seats, and swung into each other's laps, 
 they thanked heaven that they were not 
 in front, and were, at all events, spared the 
 anticipation of the donkey carts and the 
 children. What Mrs. Delanty felt they could 
 only surmise from her convulsive grasp of the 
 arm of her seat ; the rapture of an unceasing 
 succession of " near things " remained with 
 Mr. Fanshawe. 
 
 " Under the twelve," he said, pulling off 
 his gloves at the entrance of the Ashgrove 
 Kennels. " We'll make better time going back, 
 down hill." With this exhilarating prospect 
 before them the ladies disembarked. 
 
 Mr. Augustus Fitz-Symons was prepared to 
 enjoy himself. He had on a clean kennel-coat 
 and the white linen flattered his broad 
 shoulders and dark looks ; he had had his hair 
 cut and had bought a new cap, (points that were 
 reverently appreciated by his brother and the 
 kennel boy.) His visitors, moreover, were 
 strangers, and Mr. Fitz-Symons had an instinc- 
 tive preference for strangers, the preference, 
 perhaps, of the man who has a shop window 
 and not much to put in it. He shook hands 
 with his guests, lingeringly and possessively, 
 the type of handshake that is liable to set in at 
 about the age of forty-five, and indicates that,
 
 70 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 though appearances are against it, the ardour 
 of youth still informs that which might have 
 been mistaken for merely paternal kindness. In 
 Miss Rowan's case he even retained her hand, 
 while he enquired how she and her horse had 
 felt after their day with the hounds. 
 
 " Ah, we'll show you something better than 
 that ! " he said, allowing his brown eyes to 
 dwell upon her. 
 
 Mr. Fitz-Symons satisfied his own ideals 
 best when he had, as it were, elbow room, and 
 there was no need for hurry. He now was 
 King Solomon, majestically preparing to 
 exhibit his apes and peacocks, and Katharine, 
 quickly apprehending the position, was aware 
 that not Jean Masterman, nor yet Mrs. Delanty, 
 but she herself, had been cast for the r61e of 
 the Queen of Sheba. On her was bestowed 
 the only spare kennel-coat, the Master's own 
 whip was placed in her hand, and she was con- 
 ducted into the kennel-yard, where, with her 
 back morally as well as actually against the 
 wall, she stood like a general taking the salute, 
 while hound after hound was paraded before 
 her, and the difficulty of composing encomiums 
 became momently greater, (a difficulty that, 
 possibly, does not press heavily upon 
 Generals).
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 71 
 
 Outside the rails, representing merely the 
 general public, was the remainder of the 
 party, was even Mrs. Delanty, the last 
 authority on the hounds, the patentee of the 
 strangers. To expound the pack to Mr. 
 Fanshawe from beyond the pale, as she was 
 now doing, was certainly a consolation ; to 
 draw attention to Rainbow, whom, as a puppy, 
 she had nursed through distemper, or Cardinal, 
 who through her good offices, had been 
 acquired from a Welsh pack, or Rosemary, 
 who was so shy she wouldn't let the Master 
 put a hand on her, though she, Mrs. Delanty, 
 could do anything with her. Mr. Fanshawe 
 thought her wonderfully knowledgeable (as 
 indeed she was), and admired her with the 
 conventional, almost inevitable admiration of a 
 tall fair man for a small and dark pretty 
 woman ; Mrs. Masterman, who neither knew, 
 nor desired to know, anything of the matter in 
 hand, kept her handkerchief to her nose, and 
 devoted her attention, as was her wont, to the 
 social aspect. 
 
 The person, who, so far, appeared to have 
 no social aspect or aspirations, was Mr. Fitz- 
 Symons' younger brother. He had probably 
 not yet recovered from the shock of his first 
 encounter with the tenants of Lake View, and
 
 72 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 having tendered a limp hand for the accept- 
 ance of the ladies, he had faded away into the 
 kennel, and the performance of his duties as 
 kennel-man. 
 
 Miraculously, as it seemed to Katharine, 
 he extracted hound after hound, as required, 
 from the throng in the darksome recesses of 
 the kennel ; he was very quick and quiet in 
 his handling of them, and the lambent eyes of 
 those who still waited for their turn glowed 
 upon him with frankest homage. It is a 
 privilege of dogs, which has not been extended 
 to human beings, to look their best when they 
 are begging. The pockets of the Master's 
 kennel-coat bulged with broken biscuit, and the 
 knowledge of it penetrated the very souls of 
 the hounds, making them romantically, passion- 
 ately, beautifully greedy. Mr. Fitz-Symons, 
 still with the air of King Solomon dispensing 
 largesse, presented a handful to Miss Rowan, 
 who was straightway beset by a gang of sturdy 
 beggars, all, indisputably, looking their best, 
 and all well aware that this was probably the 
 chance of a lifetime. Katharine was hustled 
 into a corner by them ; one hound snatched at 
 her hand, another pushed a determined snout 
 into her pocket, a third tried, not without 
 success, to lick her face, and it was at this
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 73 
 
 juncture that she found John Michael at her 
 side. 
 
 " She was walked by a lady," he murmured 
 in his gentle brogue, while he dealt Dauntless 
 an entirely ungentle clout with his whip. 
 
 " How heartless ! " said Katharine, extend- 
 ing a consolatory piece of biscuit. Two hounds 
 jumped at it like sharks, and in the same 
 instant her hand was caught away by John 
 Michael, and held, biscuit and all, while two 
 pairs of jaws clashed like rat traps. 
 
 "They'd take the hand off you like that!" 
 he said, looking at Miss Rowan with gentle 
 reproof, as if she were a child. His hazel eyes 
 were clear and serious, his manner was that of 
 an earnest young Sunday school teacher. 
 "See now," he continued, "you should hold 
 the bit in the palm of your hand, like this." 
 He said " the pa'm o' yer hand," with entire 
 simplicity, there was not a shade of self-con- 
 sciousness in his grave eyes ; where hounds 
 were concerned John Michael would look any 
 man or woman in the face. 
 
 Katharine had not escaped the effeteness 
 of the artistic temperament, if, indeed, it be 
 effete to take a conscious pleasure in simplicity, 
 and she savoured the quality in John Michael 
 with a new and intricate enjoyment.
 
 74 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 " Was Miss Rowan frightened by poor 
 Dauntless ? " shrilled Mrs. Delanty, who, 
 during this episode, had been talking to the 
 Master through the rails. 
 
 " She was not," replied John Michael, 
 expressionlessly. 
 
 " Ger' away back, Hounds!" thundered 
 the Master. " What are you about, John 
 Michael, letting them knock a lady about, like 
 that! I must apologize, Miss Rowan, for the 
 rudeness of my hounds," he went on, with the 
 manner of treacle and pomp that he reserved 
 for the highest female Society, '! it is not often 
 they're honoured by visits from strange ladies ! " 
 
 " They know fast enough who's afraid of 
 them ! " said Mrs. Delanty to Mr. Fanshawe, 
 on the wrong side of the railings. 
 
 " We'll see them fed now," continued Mr. 
 Fitz-Symons, ushering Katharine protectively 
 into the feeding yard. " Where's that boy ? 
 Dinny ! " He strode into the boiler-house, and 
 the kennel boy staggered forth with a bucketful 
 of soup, and fell to his task. 
 
 Mrs. Masterman buried her face in her muff. 
 Mrs. Delanty poked her stick into a slab of 
 yellow porridge in the feeding-trough, and 
 examined its point critically. Katharine recog- 
 nized the stick as one that they had bought
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 75 
 
 together at Chambery, when nothing on earth 
 could have seemed more improbable than the 
 present moment. 
 
 " I'm afraid your chefis run out of oatmeal, 
 Mr. Fitz-Symons. Johnny, you and I made 
 a better pudding than this that time every one 
 had the ' Flu ! ' There was no talk of skimping 
 the oatmeal then ! " 
 
 Mrs. Delanty flung this barbed reminis- 
 cence at the Master's broad white back ; 
 it fell, apparently, unheard, but the space of 
 neck between his collar and his black hair 
 deepened in colour. 
 
 Mrs. Masterman put up an eyebrow at her 
 young friend over the top of her muff. Was 
 this indeed, it seemed to say, the pliant and 
 subservient Delanty, she who at Aix had been 
 their little dog, a little humble dog, incapable 
 of a snap ? 
 
 !' Oh, I say, Mrs. Delanty!" burst in Mr. 
 Fanshawe, who during the proceeding had 
 babbled ceaselessly and facetiously, '.' how 
 many hounds died of it ? The pudding, I 
 mean, not the ' Flu ! ' " 
 
 " One," said the Master, turning viciously 
 round, " he swallowed a hairpin ! "
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 'ELL, I hope you enjoyed that!" 
 said Mrs. Masterman in 
 
 W- 
 Katharine's ear, as they emerged 
 at length from the feeding yard and its sights 
 and scents. " If I knew Mrs. Fitz-Symons well 
 enough I should ask her for brandy ! " 
 
 Miss Rowan turned her back upon her 
 friend, and handing her kennel-coat to John 
 Michael, thanked him for the entertainment 
 with a warmth that seemed to his elder 
 brother misplaced. 
 
 " Here, you can hang this up too," he said, 
 Hinging his own coat at his junior. If Miss 
 Rowan did not know who was top-dog at these 
 kennels, the sooner she learnt it the better. 
 
 John Michael obeyed the behest with 
 alacrity. 
 
 The sun had dropped over the ridge of the 
 long brown hill that lay behind the kennels, 
 and the yellow sky was clamorous with rooks, 
 swinging home to the tall ash-trees that gave 
 
 76
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX ^^ 
 
 Ashgrove its name. Mrs. Delanty had, as 
 she said, " Stuck to the ship," and had gone 
 round in the motor with Fanshawe. Mrs. 
 Masterman and Katharine accepted their 
 host's invitation to walk, and now, in cumber- 
 some motor coats, were toiling along the short 
 cut across the fields. The mud lay in sloughs 
 in the gateways, and formed a holding paste 
 on the path ; Mrs. Masterman walked with 
 Mr. Fitz-Symons, enduring her sufferings with 
 fortitude, and to John Michael fell of necessity 
 the task of escorting Miss Rowan. 
 
 John Michael's two white terriers, Dhoosh 
 and Sue, arose from the lair in the straw-rick 
 from which, with hatred undimmed by repetition, 
 they daily watched the feeding operations, and 
 fleeted in the darkening fields like spirits 
 released from purgatory. John Michael, 
 frowning with shyness, watched them furtively 
 from under his black brows, and even while he 
 uttered the monosyllabic replies that were his 
 contribution to the conversation, he was think- 
 ing that Dhoosh had the legs of Sue, but she 
 could best him when it came to dodging. 
 
 They came to the final gateway, near the 
 house ; the cows had gathered there, awaiting 
 their evening milking and their admission to 
 the much-desired cowhouse, in motionless
 
 78 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 expectation that took no heed of the chilly sea 
 of mud in which they stood. Mr. Fitz-Symons 
 halted. 
 
 " Drive them out of that," he said to his 
 step-brother. 
 
 John Michael advanced upon them with 
 understanding, from the side, calling out " How- 
 how-haow ! " after the manner of Munster, and 
 the cows slowly began to move, swinging their 
 heads at the terriers in heavy contempt, as 
 these Jacks-in-office charged dramatically into 
 the mire, and enforced their owner's commands 
 with short bullying rushes and yappings. 
 
 " I think we'll have to carry you ladies 
 over this ! " said Mr. Fitz-Symons, regarding 
 his guests with facetious gallantry. 
 
 John Michael began hurriedly to pull heavy 
 stones out of the wall by the gate, and to 
 arrange them, as stepping-stones ; his faun- 
 like alarm at being involved in his brother's 
 suggestion could not have been more frankly 
 indicated. He himself stood in the mud, with 
 the unconcern of one of the cows, and proffered 
 an entirely remote and impersonal elbow for 
 the assistance of the ladies. Jean Masterman, 
 hopping like an enormous fur-clad bird, from 
 stone to stone, said to herself that she would 
 remember John Michael in her will.
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 79 
 
 Nothing remained for Mr. Fitz-Symons 
 save to follow in the wake of the ladies. 
 
 " You can stay and build up that wall 
 again," he said as he passed his brother. 
 
 John Michael said nothing, and stayed. 
 
 Mrs. Fitz-Symons' drawing-room was a 
 wonderfully perfect relic of the earliest Victorian 
 period. It had the rare merit of being entirely 
 consistent ; nothing save its myriad framed 
 photographs spoke of a more recent date than 
 1850, and Mrs. Fitz-Symons, in a cap with 
 pink ribbons and a well-matured black silk 
 dress, was agreeably in the picture. There 
 was a mighty fire, every window was shut, and 
 a tall, unshaded lamp held the room in its 
 search-light glare, and exerted a mesmeric 
 spell upon the eyes and the intellect. Mrs. 
 Fitz-Symons was wholly impervious to spells of 
 any kind, and was, moreover, possessed of the 
 enviable Early Victorian constitution, that 
 thrives in the extreme of heat and the 
 minimum of fresh air ; she sat in front of the 
 fire and wielded a genial teapot, whose contours 
 and general expression were not unlike her 
 own, and obviously enjoyed herself. Mrs. 
 Masterman, who had served her time to many 
 hostesses, and was herself no mean exponent 
 of the art, realized almost immediately that
 
 So DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 here the burden of the guest would He lightly 
 upon her. There were other guests, two or 
 three unknown young ladies, daughters of the 
 land, who plied with teacups and cake, and 
 were not worthy, it appeared, of being 
 introduced to the strangers ; the Master of the 
 house dealt forth to each of them a finger and 
 a Christian name, selected a comfortable chair 
 beside Miss Rowan, and permitted their 
 ministrations with the tranquillity of the Grand 
 
 Turk. 
 
 Katharine found herself engaged in a tri- 
 angular conversation with him and one of the 
 tea-bearers, a young lady with a snub nose of 
 the type that, singularly enough, guarantees its 
 owner as unsnubbable. Mr. Fitz-Symons 
 addressed her as " Eily " ; something in her 
 voice was reminiscent of another scene of 
 activity. Was this that " Eily" who, from the 
 staircase landing of Lake View, had sounded 
 the alarm, the " Eily " for whom Katharine 
 was to say a prayer ? There was a wary 
 spark in Eily's eye that showed that she also 
 remembered. 
 
 When two of a neighbourhood are con- 
 cerned in conversation with an outsider, it is 
 well for the outsider to advance with caution, 
 with platitude, with small talk, if, indeed, the
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 8i 
 
 great gift of small talk is bestowed. Pitfalls 
 beset the way, and the predestined foot of the 
 stranger stumbles over the inadequately interred 
 hatchet. Thus it was that Katharine, as if by 
 special inspiration, moved smoothly and con- 
 ventionally from golf to hockey, to find that 
 Eily's Hockey Club had an outstanding feud 
 with Mr. Fitz-Symons in the matter of a 
 playing-field. Conversation became suddenly 
 acrid, and Katharine imperceptibly withdrew 
 her chair from the danger-zone, and into the 
 sphere of influence of Mrs. Fitz-Symons. 
 There all was on velvet ; the discourse was of 
 servants, a topic that in Ireland is presided 
 over alternately by the Tragic or the Comic 
 Muse ; a Pipe of Pan, upon which Mrs. Fitz- 
 Symons, like Pan himself, could " blow in 
 power." 
 
 "... Mrs. Delanty found her for me," 
 Mrs. Masterman was saying. " My cook says 
 she seems a very obliging girl, but nothing will 
 get her up in the morning." 
 
 ," Oh then, well I know them !" responded 
 Mrs. Fitz-Symons fervently. " I have one this 
 minute, a great, good-natured slob of a girl, 
 that'd sit up all night with you if you were ill, 
 and if you were well, maybe she wouldn't get 
 out of her bed at all ! " 
 
 G
 
 82 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 " Charming as a guest," suggested Mrs. 
 Masterman. " Guests who don't get up are 
 such a help." 
 
 " Guests indeed ! " ejaculated Mrs. Fitz- 
 Symons, gathering in Katharine with her 
 roving blue eye, well aware that she was 
 making sport for " the English ladies." 
 " Maybe you'd like another one I had, that 
 had two of her sisters hid in the house un- 
 known to me for a month, and she telling me 
 she didn't know why the cows were going 
 back in their milk, and putting it on the hound 
 puppies that they stole the butter ! That one 
 went to America," continued Mrs. Fitz-Symons, 
 now in full possession of the ear of the house, 
 which included two of the attendant young 
 ladies, ** and what do you think of her mother ? 
 She was here last week to see me, and ' Ma'am,' 
 says she, ' Ellie's after sending me her likeness 
 from Ameriky, I brought it to show you. 
 Faith I'd hardly know it ! ' says she, ' she 
 got so handsome ! * * Show it to me ! ' says I ; 
 and what was it only my young lady had sent 
 a photograph of Queen Alexandra, if you 
 please! 'Well, indeed, Mrs. Hallahan,' says 
 I, • her journey throve well with her ! I think 
 I'll be off to America myself ! ' " 
 
 The door opened, letting in a shaft of cold
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 83 
 
 air, as if from another and a frozen planet, and 
 Mrs. Delanty and Mr. Fanshawe appeared, 
 followed unobtrusively by John Michael. 
 
 " We've been looking at Mr. Johnny's four- 
 year-old," announced Mrs. Delanty, "going 
 round him with candles and wax matches ! 
 Such a time for horse-coping ! But I tell 
 them / won't be a party to a deal in the 
 dark ! " 
 
 Mrs. Delanty, whose furs were undoubtedly 
 becoming, addressed her speech to the room 
 in general, but her eyes followed John Michael, 
 who had already taken covert behind the 
 upright piano. 
 
 "You can't back out of it now, Mrs. 
 Delanty ! It's your show," said Fanshawe, 
 appropriating the speech to himself, with a 
 manner that could not be accused of undue 
 formality. " I told you that I put myself in 
 your hands, you know." 
 
 " Well, that's a handful, anyhow ! " returned 
 Mrs. Delanty. " What will you give me out 
 of the bargain, Mr. Johnny ? " 
 
 John Michael, who was seated in acute 
 discomfort on a small and creaking music 
 stool, grinned feebly and attempted no 
 rejoinder. 
 
 " It's time enough for him to tell you that
 
 84 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 when you have it made ! " said his mother, 
 snatching up the gauntlet. 
 
 " Quite right, Mrs. Fitz-Symons ! " said 
 Fanshawe in his voice of deadly calm. " I 
 understand that in this country it takes three 
 days and a bottle of — what d'you call it ? — 
 potteen — to buy a horse ! " 
 
 ?Ie was a well-meaning youth, yet he had 
 not been proof against the temptation of over- 
 tranquillity. Katharine, with a heat generated 
 perhaps as much by the temperature of the 
 room as by some sub-conscious championing of 
 the house of Fitz-Symoris, thought his manner 
 a blend of patronage and asininity. 
 
 "Well, indeed, I don't know about that!" 
 replied Mrs. Fitz-Symons, eyeing him indul- 
 gently. " I went to an auction here, one 
 time, to buy beds, and I came back with a 
 mare and foal, and I had the pair of them 
 bought in five minutes ! What d'ye think of 
 that now ! " 
 
 " Oh I say ! " expostulated Mr. Fanshawe, 
 who was obviously unused to being chaffed by 
 elderly ladies. 
 
 " Oh, 'pon me honour I did," returned Mrs. 
 Fitz-Symons, in her undulating brogue ; " but 
 Gus here wouldn't give me a stable, and I had 
 to put the foal in the potting shed, and he
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 85 
 
 jumped out through the window and destroyed 
 himself with the broken glass. Johnny put 
 nineteen stitches in him, and he and I were up 
 two nights with him — the creature ! — and after 
 all he wasn't a penny the worse ; but it isn't 
 every one has a vet on the premises, like me. 
 Miss Rowan ! " 
 
 She looked at the vet in question with a 
 rallying yet protective eye. John Michael's 
 mother was aware that her son did not dis- 
 tinguish himself socially, and like Marlboro', 
 who to fainting squadrons sent the timely aid, 
 was despatching Katharine to his succour. 
 
 John Michael, on his music-stool, was but 
 two yards away from Miss Rowan, weighed 
 down by shyness palpable enough to touch a 
 heart of stone. His red hands suggested icy 
 ablutions at the pump in the yard ; his dark 
 hair was plastered down as if with the stable 
 water-brush ; he eyed Katharine from under 
 his curling black eyelashes like a thing at bay. 
 She felt that if so much as a twig cracked he 
 would melt into the upright piano, even as 
 Daphne was merged in the laurel. 
 
 " Have you got the colt still ? " she asked, 
 addressing herself to what she hoped would be 
 the line of least resistance. 
 
 John Michael's teaspoon fell from his saucer.
 
 86 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 " No we have not," he said to it and to the 
 floor. 
 
 "I hope he had no other disaster?" 
 persevered Katharine. 
 
 " He had not ; we sold him." 
 
 " You ought to have charged extra for him 
 as a piece of Art needlework ! " said Katharine, 
 daringly, and found she had touched the right 
 spot. 
 
 " Oh he wasn't blemished at all," said John 
 Michael quickly. *' I sold him very well. I 
 swapped him for thirty-four sovereigns and a 
 harness-horse, and the man that got him sold 
 him for seventy." 
 
 " Splendid ! " said Katharine. 
 
 There was a pause, during which Miss 
 Rowan wondered if any process of arithmetic 
 could sift out of this transaction the value of 
 ihe harness-horse. The pause continued ; it 
 was as though a feeble puff of wind had filled 
 the sail and died again. 
 
 ** Then I suppose you sold the harness- 
 horse for thirty-five ? " ventured Katharine, at 
 length. 
 
 "We have him yet," said John Michael 
 gravely. "He has a big knee." 
 
 Katharine became aware that she had 
 pushed her success rather too far, and fell into
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 87 
 
 a discouraged silence. There was another 
 pause, during which she tried in vain to catch 
 Mrs. Masterman's eye. 
 
 " I suppose you never were at Cahirmee ? ' 
 said John Michael, with an effort that wrung a 
 creak from the music-stool. 
 
 Katharine felt that she was witnessing the 
 awakening of a social conscience. It was un- 
 fortunate that she was oblisred to answer the 
 question in the negative. 
 
 " Well, it's a chancey place to buy a colt." 
 He looked at her with something approaching 
 to confidence in his hazel eyes, he even seemed 
 on the verge of committing himself to a further 
 statement, when the upheaval of departure fell 
 upon the room. His mother saw the look, and 
 said to herself with a mental pounce at what 
 was, for her, the heart of the matter, " Ah, she'd 
 never think of him ! " 
 
 In the motor, on the return journey, Mrs. 
 Masterman and Katharine drew deep breaths 
 of fresh air and relief, and, in the security of 
 the tonneau, abandoned themselves, after the 
 manner of guests, to untrammelled criticism of 
 their entertainers and the friends of their 
 entertainers. 
 
 " No," said Mrs. Masterman, decisively 
 " I have never before been in any part of
 
 8S DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 Irel.uid where there was not so much as one 
 white person. But I may candidly admit I 
 don't ask for better company than Mrs. Fitz- 
 Symons ! I saw you making very heavy 
 weather of it with your handsome deaf mute." 
 
 *' He's a nice gentle thing," said Katharine 
 dictatorially. " When I die I'm going to endow 
 a hospital for the Shy, and there shall be a 
 John Michael ward." 
 
 " A lethal chamber would be more to the 
 point," said Mrs. Masterman, "give me his 
 mother, any day ! " 
 
 " All nice people are shy," proclaimed 
 Katharine, and fell heavily into Mrs. Master- 
 man's arms as the motor swung on two wheels 
 into the main road.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 IT was indisputable that the Widow 
 Delanty had retired, in a somewhat 
 definite manner, from her position of 
 humble follower of the ladies to whom she had 
 attached herself at Aix. Yet nothing was 
 further from her intention than relinquishing 
 her riofhts in them as Show-woman and 
 Patentee. If, indeed, she had exhibited a 
 small white fang at the Kennels, it had only- 
 been because her rights in another and more 
 ancient patent had been infringed, and to Mrs. 
 Delanty and her class the baring of a fang is 
 an affair of but passing moment ; even a more 
 serious passage of arms is taken as part of any 
 day's work, and makes no lasting impression on 
 those inured to combat. 
 
 Mrs. Delanty therefore continued to ex- 
 pound her distinguished tenants to the 
 neighbourhood, as one who translates a classic 
 into a speech understaiided of the people ; she 
 also, and with a thrilHiig sense of power, 
 
 89
 
 90 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 expounded the neighbourhood to her distin- 
 guished tenants ; she appointed to the Lake- 
 View household its various purveyors ; she 
 licensed certain of the beggars to its charities, 
 and gave the necessary family details where- 
 with to confute the undeserving; she knew to 
 an oat what Dermot had and what he had not 
 to eat. It was she who decided that the next 
 meet following on the visit to the Kennels was 
 too far away to be feasible. 
 
 ** I wouldn't give that young fellow twelve 
 miles of the road. Better save him for the 
 day when they're meeting here." 
 
 It was under her expert guidance that 
 Katharine exercised " the young fellow," and 
 incidentally learned something of the lie of the 
 coverts, something also of the lies of the 
 covert-keepers, and a great deal about the im- 
 plicit confidence placed by the Master and the 
 Huntsman in her information on such matters. 
 The widow was one of the administrators of 
 the Fowl Fund ; slowly, and by the medium 
 of many circuitous conversations, at cottage 
 doors, Katharine began to apprehend it as a 
 fitting school for diplomats, a school in which 
 no rules could be taught, and in which every 
 treaty was in its essence a compromise. Mrs. 
 Delanty, in these matters, showed an adroitness
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 91 
 
 and a grasp so entirely native that she was 
 herself unaware of them. She knew when 
 to listen in silence, she knew how to plant a 
 question where it was least desired, she knew 
 how to bluster in a way that opened 
 Katharine's eyes to the unpleasant possibilities 
 of the art, she also knew when to pay and look 
 pleasant. Incidentally, Katharine made up 
 her mind that it would be neither wise nor 
 agreeable to have any financial difference of 
 opinion with Mrs. Delanty. 
 
 Between these interviews they wandered 
 through much country, by the stony, twisting 
 lanes and by-roads with which it was veined. 
 One of these Staff Rides took them into a 
 strange, inconsequent district of grey and 
 brown and purple hills, thrown about among 
 pasture and long streaks of bog ; nothing was 
 consistent, all was interrupted just as it was 
 beginning to have a character ; it was like three 
 countries broken up and mixed together, and 
 of them but one resembled a hunting country. 
 For Mrs. Delanty, however, it had no other 
 aspect ; neither hill-top nor boggy valley was 
 without its legend, scarcely a bank that could 
 not boast of its casualty. And through all 
 wound the annals of the Young Horses that 
 she had ridden over it. To Miss Rowan were
 
 92 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 displayed the precipices down which they had 
 Hoated, the boundary banks on which they had 
 disdained to "put an iron"; the coped walls, 
 on the further side of which she had found 
 herself " alone with hounds." Katharine lis- 
 tened respectfully, hopelessly, and told herself, 
 as many another stranger in a strange country 
 has done, that these things were, in all senses 
 of the word, too high for her. 
 
 The widow, on this particular afternoon, 
 was in search of a poultry-owner, whose 
 cottage had been located by another poultry- 
 owner as being " not the throw of your thumb- 
 nail from the new chapel." Armed with this 
 information, she and Katharine jogged for a 
 mile or so, upwards, into a sample of country 
 that was bare and rocky, with the pale stone 
 walls on either side of the road glistening from 
 a shower, and the new chapel a notable land- 
 mark in front, its grey roof nearly lost against 
 an identical grey sky. In the chapel enclosure, 
 among heaps of mortar and stones, stood the 
 priest, big and black, in his soutane and 
 biretta, a figure fraught with the romance of 
 the religion that satisfies the poetical as well 
 as the practical side of the Irish people. Black 
 and big and powerful, and a friendly man at 
 heart. It was Saturday, and he had been
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 93 
 
 hearing confessions. A woman in a dark blue 
 cloak was going forth again, shriven, into her 
 world. Katharine wondered what sins she 
 had been ingenious enough to commit in what 
 appeared to be complete solitude. A bicycle 
 leaned against the brand new gate, and a tall 
 man in light grey clothes was talking to the 
 priest, asking the way, judging by the explan- 
 atory gestures of the priest. The man lifted 
 his cap and turned towards his bicycle. 
 
 "Why— isn't that ?" began Mrs. 
 
 Delanty. 
 
 " Yes, it is ! " said Katharine, smiting 
 Dermot. "Hi! Stop! Mr. Adare ! " She 
 was suddenly aware that she felt as might a 
 marooned seaman, who, surrounded by friendly 
 natives, sees a man-o'-war's boat arrive at his 
 coral beach. 
 
 "'Dr. Livingstone, I presume'!" said 
 Katharine, beaming upon him. " What an 
 extraordinary place for you to turn up. I see 
 you've actually changed your plans ! " 
 
 " The picture-post-card did it. I wired to 
 Jean from the station — I hope you don't mind ? " 
 ^ " It was a great liberty!" said Katharine, 
 with a further realization of the feelings of the 
 marooned seaman at being able again to speak 
 his own language : had she spoken thus to
 
 94 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 John Michael, she thought, he would have fled 
 at top speed. 
 
 Mrs. Delanty had pursued the woman with 
 the blue cloak, and had departed with her 
 towards the horizon, in search of the still 
 invisible house that was " but the throw of a 
 thumbnail " from the chapel. 
 
 " Is that the creature you spoke about as 
 Dermot ? " said Ulick Adare, regarding 
 Katharine and her horse attentively, ** or is 
 Dermot the hero who pilots you and the 
 hounds through these wildernesses? The Hymn 
 of Praise that you wrote to me on the subject 
 was a little confusing." 
 
 " This is Dermot," said Katharine, re- 
 pressively, " I'm not responsible for the name. 
 They said it was unlucky to change it, so I 
 didn't." 
 
 ** I've never seen you on a horse before," 
 he said, looking at her with disfavour. " I 
 don't think I like it. It turns you into a 
 tailor's advertisement. And then that horrible 
 hat ; and your hair — like a door knob — a 
 nice, real gold door-knob of course, but 
 still " ^ 
 
 .'I Oh, thank you ! " said Katharine. 
 
 " Why must you wear these things ? Every 
 woman on horseback should be a pageant in
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 95 
 
 herself ; plumed hat — flowing skirt — touches of 
 gold lace — And she should ride upon a white 
 palfrey, with a silver mane and tail ; not on a 
 drab-coloured monster, cropped like a convict." 
 
 " You got out of that very well," said 
 Katharine critically. " ' Not on a drab-coloured 
 monster, cropped like a convict ; ' it scans quite 
 nicely ! " 
 
 "I'm glad to find you still retain some 
 literary sentiment." He was leading his 
 bicycle along the road beside her, and he 
 turned as he spoke, and regarded her with 
 grey-blue eyes that had the comrade's glance. 
 * How's the book getting on ? I suppose 
 it has suddenly been transformed into a 
 Sporting Novel — You and Dermot as hero 
 and heroine, surrounded by a circle of yearn- 
 ing squireens." 
 
 " I particularly dislike the word yearn," said 
 Katharine to Dermot's ears. 
 
 " Oh why ? Very respectable people yearn." 
 
 " That makes it worse," retorted Katharine. 
 
 " As a matter of fact," he went on, " there's 
 no such thing in literature as a Sporting Novel. 
 The two things are incompatible." 
 
 "And why, pray.-*" challenged Katharine, 
 who was argumentative by nature and by 
 practice.
 
 96 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 " Sport," said Adare, dogmatically, " is like 
 Aaron's Serpent. It is the master passion 
 in the breast, and it swallows all the rest. 
 Sentiment, romance, character, even humour, 
 they simply don't exist where sport is con- 
 cerned. I've just come from a house where 
 they hunted all day and talked about it all night. 
 They used to debate for hours as to whether 
 the fox ran one side of a furze bush or the 
 other, before the hounds devoured him." 
 
 •'You confuse your smart hunting people 
 with hunting," exclaimed Katharine, bursting 
 in upon this homily. " Hunting is full of 
 romance ! I need not quote the poets to you ! 
 I leave it to your memory and your conscience ! " 
 
 The trotting of Mrs. Delanty's horse here 
 made itself heard. Ulick Adare looked back, 
 and prepared to mount his bicycle. 
 
 " Well, here's your heroine ! I suppose 
 she's full of romance too ? Mind you give her 
 a plumed hat. I'm not having any romance 
 just now, I'm for tea. This is the way, isn't 
 it ? " 
 
 Katharine watched his long legs working 
 like a knife grinder's, and reserved to herself 
 the intention of telling him that people who 
 ride bicycles had better be silent on the subject 
 of romance.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 MISS ROWAN and Mr. Adare had 
 known each other for two or three 
 years, intermittently and unexact- 
 ingly. It was a friendship that came forth with 
 the summer days and the warm weather, and 
 was laid up in the winter, like a yacht. The 
 existence of the friendship was due to a larg-e 
 extent, to Mrs. Masterman, who had had a little 
 house on the river near Hampton Court, and 
 was lenient to friendships, even to what she 
 held to be futile and impersonal ones. 
 
 They did indeed write to each other occa- 
 sionally in the winter, and their letters were high- 
 ly creditable, and betokened a mutual respect 
 for each other's appreciation ; Ulick Adare, in 
 fact, sometimes, when he had literary work in 
 view, utilized a letter to Katharine as a pre- 
 liminary canter for his ideas. Jean Masterman, 
 in her unregenerate and practical heart, said to 
 herself that not thus had her young men 
 written to her what time she had been a com- 
 batant and said Ha ! Ha ! among the Captains, 
 n 97
 
 98 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 but, being a large-minded person, she accepted 
 the possibility of other methods, and wrote to 
 her William (who, at the moment, was at 
 Pindi), that it seemed to her it all came to 
 the same thing in the long run. 
 
 This state of things had been arrived at 
 during idle, serene afternoons on the river, and 
 in high, still mornings amid blue and silver 
 Swiss mountains ; the personal note had not 
 been touched in it, or not more than was inevit- 
 able in two people who had cultivated their 
 self-consciousness by much reading of the later 
 poets. Summer, and the silences of the river 
 and the mountains, had imparted the needful 
 vibration of sentiment ; the friendship that 
 could maintain its vibrating quality in one of 
 Mrs. Delanty's *' occasional chairs " in front of 
 a meagre Lake View fire-place, would need to 
 be of a hardier constitution. 
 
 But this was not a mere matter of back- 
 ground. The fair and pleasing being, restful 
 and appreciative, with her grey eyes shaded by 
 a languidly-curving straw hat, and sufficiently 
 reserved to have a tinge of mystery about her, 
 was not the Katharine whom Adare found at 
 Lake View in November. This later Katharine 
 came down to breakfast in her habit, robustly 
 determined to exercise her horse at lo o'clock ;
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 99 
 
 irrespective of other people's plans or designs ; 
 preoccupied about the stuffing of her saddle, 
 indignant over the misfits of Tim's corduroys. 
 Worst of all, she was cheery, a metallic, cold- 
 weather quality, very unsuitable to a vibrating 
 friendship. 
 
 " How long are you going to stay here ? " 
 he demanded of his cousin, as, through a window 
 blurred with rain, they saw Katharine returning 
 at speed to the stable, after a two-hours' excur- 
 sion. 
 
 " As long as it suits the children, and 
 Katharine doesn't get bored," replied Mrs. 
 Masterman ; "it maybe nasty, but it is cer- 
 tainly cheap, and that, my dear, is a point 
 worthy of consideration, though you may not 
 think so ! " 
 
 " Don't I, though ! " said Ulick Adare, 
 morosely. "Anyhow, I don't think you need 
 be anxious about Miss Rowan." 
 
 The door opened, and Katharine appeared, 
 dripping and glowing, radiating an entirely 
 discordant healthfulness and good temper. 
 
 "Such a day!" she said. "But it was 
 rather delicious, too! I suppose you two 
 wasters haven't moved from the fire since I 
 saw you 1 This room feels like an oven 1 " 
 
 " Go ! go ! You horrible creature ! "
 
 100 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 exclaimed Mrs. Masterman, "you're dripping 
 over everything ! I like ovens 1 " 
 
 The door was banged. 
 
 " This climate is certainly the place for 
 complexions ! " said Jean Masterman to her 
 cousin. " Did you ever see a more lovely 
 colour ? " 
 
 " A high colour is death to expression," 
 replied Mr. Adare, sourly. 
 
 The meet at Lake View, next day, was a 
 matter that had been specially arranged for the 
 glorification of the most recent subscriber to 
 the hunt. A thrill pervaded the establishment, 
 in unconscious response to that commanding 
 quality that the Chase exercises without an 
 effort over all within its scope. The Pomeranian 
 was immured in a bedroom, where it squeaked 
 and scratched with the indigation of a caged 
 lion and the pertinacity of a mechanical toy. The 
 kitchenmaid's mother, who came to sell chickens, 
 found herself famous on announcing that the 
 fox had whipped two from her ere yester- 
 day. Enthusiastically cross-examined by Miss 
 Rowan, she became expansive, and declared 
 that he was in it always. It wasn't a week 
 since she met him back in the hill, " and he 
 eating a goose. And the goose screeching, 
 and he having a puss on him that long" — (the
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX loi 
 
 kitchenmaid's mother here extended a wiry 
 arm and swiftly indicated the length between 
 her elbow and her wrist) — " the merry rogue ! " 
 
 It was Ulick Adare who explained to 
 Katharine that it was the length of the fox's 
 jaw that had been defined, and thereby found 
 himself, for a few moments, as it were in the 
 picture. That was at 10.45. ^^ i^ ^^ ^^^s 
 again wholly outside it. 
 
 •' Four red coats ! " said Mrs. Delanty, 
 standing in the sunshine at the open hall-door, 
 looking as spruce as a little blackbird. ** Quite 
 a smart meet ! They'll be all on the ride to- 
 day ! they know they can trust ottr coverts, 
 Mrs. Masterman ! " 
 
 She looked round her approvingly, noting 
 the suitable array of restoratives set forth on a 
 table, feeling that even the tall, immaculate 
 parlourmaid redounded to her personal credit. 
 
 " Mr. Fanshawe has motored an X. H. man 
 over with him. I told him this was a sure 
 find!" 
 
 Outside, on the limited gravel sweep, John 
 Michael sat solemnly in the middle of his 
 hounds and rejected all refreshment. The 
 smart meet, some twenty in number, straggled 
 in the narrow drive, and overflowed into the 
 more congenial stableyard. Shy young men
 
 102 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 in nondescript attire, and on horses that equally 
 defied classification, coyly, and with mantling 
 blushes, accepted drinks from the coldly com- 
 posed English parlourmaid. In the hall Ulick 
 Adare, artistically conscious of his position out- 
 side the picture, of his tame, unheroic shooting 
 clothes, of his wool-clad calves, with their 
 inherent suggestion of trudging a-foot, plied 
 among the fox-hunters with a creditable as- 
 sumption of old-fashioned hospitality. Even 
 Mr. Fitz-Symons, concocting for himself a tall 
 and mahogany-coloured whisky and soda, with 
 his sallow, vulgar face, and over-filled waistcoat, 
 borrowed bravery from his attire, so ancient, so 
 potent is the gallantry of the red coat, the 
 white breeches, the spurred boots. Young 
 Fanshawe, whose inmost soul was swimming 
 in a sea of glory, because of the indisputable 
 superiority of his breeches over those of all 
 others at the meet, chaffed Mrs. Delanty with 
 loud, slow inanity ; and Mrs. Delanty, delicately 
 sipping her tiny glass of sloe-gin, answered a 
 fool according to his folly, and felt that she 
 was, as her sister had said to her that very 
 morning, " moving in circles." 
 
 Unlike Mrs. Delanty, Miss Rowan was not 
 enjoying herself. The gilt had suddenly and 
 inexplicably taken its departure from the
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 103 
 
 gingerbread. She felt chilly and pessimistic ; 
 nauseated by the Master, exasperated by Mrs. 
 Delanty and her swains. She was aware of 
 an intense and dreary aloofness from the 
 babbling crew that surrounded her. She 
 wondered if she were going to be ill ; she 
 wondered if she were going to be killed. That, 
 she decided, was it. She was going to be 
 killed ! This mood was a portent, and having 
 made up her mind to this she felt a little better. 
 She thought about her will, and remembered 
 that Dermot was not mentioned in it. Should 
 she rush upstairs and write a codicil, leaving 
 him to Jean ? She was restrained by the 
 reflection that there were few things that Jean 
 would more entirely dislike. With this she 
 even laughed a little, and feeling still better 
 went out and talked to John Michael, sitting 
 on the chestnut mare in the middle of his 
 hounds. By the time she had extorted from 
 him the information that he had sixteen and a 
 half couple out, and had, after three failures, 
 identified Dauntless, she had abandoned the 
 idea of the codicil. There was an eminent sanity 
 about John Michael, something so solidly anti- 
 neurotic, that he almost amounted to a tonic. 
 
 The hounds moved off at last — Mr. Fitz- 
 Symons was on these occasions a bad starter —
 
 I04 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 and Katharine mounted her horse, and found 
 that, in honour, no doubt, of the visitors, her 
 saddle had been poHshed till it felt like glass. 
 She also found that there was something like 
 a rudimentary camel's hump beneath it. 
 
 "He's getting up his back a bit!" said 
 Dermot's late owner, ranging up beside 
 Katharine on her staid bay mare, "but he 
 doesn't know how to buck." 
 
 "I think he's anxious to learn," said 
 Katharine, in jerks, holding Dermot with a 
 beginner's convulsive clutch, as he curvetted 
 round the stern of an outside ear. " I've 
 never known him so— so brutally fresh as this 
 before ! " 
 
 '* That boy is giving him too much to 
 eat, and I told you that before! Keep with 
 me, he'll go quietly with his old friend here. 
 You should see this lady with one on her 
 that isn't up to her tricks ! Sites the girl to 
 buck ! " 
 
 " She doesn't buck as big as her rider ! " 
 said Mr. Clery, who was a humorist, to his 
 young friend, Mr. Doyle, as they rode behind 
 the ladies, observing all things. 
 
 The procession here left the road, and had 
 the pleasant grass been hot lava, Miss Rowan's 
 steed could hardly have evinced more agitation.
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 105 
 
 " The hill will steady him," said Mr. Doyle 
 sympathetically to Katharine ; " there'll not be 
 much chat out of him once he gets to the top 
 o' that ! " 
 
 It was the selfsame hill up whose heights 
 John Michael had so nimbly fled from the 
 interrupted house-warming at Lake View. 
 
 "Very little that horse'll mind the hill, I 
 can tell you!" said Mrs. Delanty, scornfully. 
 ** But you'll see they'll not find there. I got a 
 sure word that fox is keeping my covert this 
 while back." 
 
 Mrs. Delanty liked Jimmy Doyle about as 
 well as he liked her — which is a more usual 
 measure of affection than is generally admitted 
 — and being proprietor, as it were, of 
 Katharine, of Dermot, and of the hill, had no 
 intention of allowing him, as she said to 
 herself, "to poke his nose in where it wasn't 
 wanted." 
 
 A ploughed field came next, a boggy one, 
 of a nature absorbent to superfluous equine 
 energy ; Katharine felt the proud Dermot 
 flounder ingloriously in the furrows, and trusted 
 that there might be many more ploughed 
 fields, and deep ones. The hounds and their 
 huntsman had already crossed it; the Master 
 stopped short at the gateway and looked
 
 io6 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 menacingly at his followers. The advance 
 ceased guiltily, and young Fanshawe and his 
 friend, who were leading, fell back in good 
 order. 
 
 " I'd take it as a favour if the conversaziony 
 were held in the furzy field back ! " said Mr. 
 Fitz-Symons, who had perfected his particular 
 vein of sarcasm in many a Petty Sessions 
 Court, "as agreeable as you are, I don't think 
 the fox'll be apt to stay in the hill to listen 
 to ye ! " 
 
 " Don't look so frightened ! " said Mrs. 
 Delanty to Mr. Fanshawe. "That's nothing! 
 He's always as cross as the cats on a hunting 
 morning! " 
 
 The Field withdrew, with the philosophy 
 and the impenitence of Fields, and the Master 
 rode on slowly in the wake of the hounds, now 
 trotting lightly across a grass field towards the 
 covert. John Michael pulled off his shabby 
 cap, and with a sudden cheer, loosed them at 
 the towering side of the hill ; they stormed 
 over the stony bank that lay between them 
 and it, and were immediately lost to sight in 
 its mantle of furze. Their huntsman slipped 
 off his mare, summoned by name one of the 
 fortuitous retinue of runners, and dived after 
 the hounds into the prickly depths.
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 107 
 
 Then ensued a long period of inaction, for 
 which none of Katharine's studies in fox- 
 hunting literature had at all prepared her. 
 There was a warmth in the sun, as is the wont 
 of winter suns in the south-west of Ireland ; 
 there was warm colour on the hillside, and 
 flecks of yellow here and there in the gorse. 
 There was a blue sky with white clouds in it, 
 and the sweetness of trodden grass was in 
 the moist air, but the artistic Miss Rowan's 
 cultivated mind was engrossed in other and 
 quite uneesthetic aspects of her surroundings. 
 The hill-side faced her oppressively, full of 
 problems insoluble to her. If the hounds 
 went away at the top, how was anyone to 
 follow them ? She perused the cattle-trucks, 
 and lost them in clumps of furze, or marked them 
 to a full-stop at out-crops of cliff. Tom Coyne, 
 on his cunning old chestnut screw, was on the 
 sky-line (happy and marvellous Tom Coyne !), 
 but how he had arrived there was known only 
 to himself. Mrs. Delanty must, of course, be 
 in the secret, thought the perturbed Katharine ; 
 how, otherwise, could she maintain an appar- 
 ently cheerful conversation with Mr. Fanshawe, 
 while at each moment the hounds were moving 
 further on upwards. Silence prevailed along 
 the hill-front, except when John Michael's
 
 io8 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 voice rose in apostrophe to the hounds ; he 
 himself was invisible, save when his black cap 
 or red coat-sleeve showed above the furze as 
 he struggled after them. Looking behind her, 
 Katharine saw Jean Masterman with her 
 kodak, and Ulick Adare, with his bicycle, 
 waiting on the road. They were creatures of 
 another world, quite wanting in greatness, or 
 even significance, yet she was not so remote 
 that she did not presently perceive with fitting 
 satisfaction the spectacle of Mrs. Masterman 
 being hauled, by the hand of Eily, on to 
 the outside car of Eily and her boon com- 
 panions. 
 
 A chilly quarter of an hour elapsed ; 
 Katharine fell again into speculation upon her 
 probably early death, and asked herself if the 
 world contained another method of wasting 
 time, money, and possibly life, as complete as 
 fox hunting. 
 
 " There's some hounds out on the top," 
 said Jimmy Doyle, suddenly. 
 
 Everyone stopped talking, and stared at a 
 few specks that crept like white ants up a 
 track near the crest of the hill. 
 
 ** I think I'll go and see what they're at," 
 continued Mr. Doyle, in his small, incredibly 
 discreet voice, gathering up his reins.
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 109 
 
 Katharine looked for guidance to Mrs. 
 Delanty. 
 
 "That's nothing but a stale line," said her 
 preceptress, airily. " I dare say he went out 
 of that an hour ago." 
 
 All, nevertheless, moved forward. Two 
 fields away the Master turned and pursued at 
 a heavy trot a course parallel with the hill. 
 
 "There's the Master started," said young 
 Fanshawe, throwing away his cigarette, and 
 hustling his horse at a confronting bank. 
 " About time for us to get a move on us." 
 
 '• That's a bad landing," said Mrs. Delanty, 
 quickly, to Katharine, holding her mare tighdy, 
 *' come this way." 
 
 Katharine attempted to obey, and Dermot 
 instantly got up on his hind legs. 
 
 " Let him have the bank," said Jimmy 
 Doyle, as he followed Fanshawe. 
 
 His black mare changed feet on it, with her 
 manner of the perfect servant, and sank out of 
 sight. 
 
 " Bit of a drop," called back her rider. 
 
 " My turn next ! " said Dermot, tearing his 
 head free from Katharine's chilled fingers. He 
 struck off with a couple of eager bounds, and 
 in his youthful arrogance flew the fence from 
 field to field.
 
 no DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 " Fled it, b' George," said Mr. Clancy. 
 " That's dangerous ! Well rode, missy ! " 
 
 As a matter of fact, it was not till Dermot 
 landed, on all four feet, that the question of 
 coming off presented itself to " missy ; " it 
 then, undoubtedly, became what might be 
 termed a hanging matter, but Dermot had 
 not been hogged, a comfortable fact, which 
 turned the verdict in favour of the rider. 
 
 In the next field the Master had pulled up, 
 and was bellowing to the hillside, where now 
 nothing whatever was visible. 
 
 " Keep up the hill," shouted Jimmy Doyle, 
 making for a seemingly perpendicular channel 
 in the furze. " I saw Johnny going away over 
 the top in a hurry ! " 
 
 Several others followed him, and with this 
 the electric current was switched on. It was 
 with the feeling that a life or death choice was 
 presented to her that Katharine looked from 
 them to the Master, a choice that had to be 
 instant and might be irrevocable, her heart 
 was going like a drum, and she had quite 
 forgotten the probability of her early death. 
 
 " It's no good going up there," said Mrs. 
 Delanty, appearing beside her with the sudden- 
 ness of the Red Queen, and deciding the 
 question. " There's a way up further on that's
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX in 
 
 twice better than this ! Keep on after the 
 Master." 
 
 Mr. Fitz-Symons on his big brown horse 
 had started again, and, with elbows up and 
 coat-tails flying, was galloping with the 
 utmost determination for the nearest gap. 
 Katharine, Mrs. Delanty, and the two red 
 coats pounded in his wake. As much as she 
 could think of anything beyond the effort to 
 hold her horse, she marvelled at the skill with 
 which the Master piloted them from gap to 
 gap. She had yet to learn that there is a 
 hunting memory for gaps, comparable only to 
 the card-memory for the lesser trumps, that is 
 bestowed by a kind providence on those who 
 fitly appreciate it. 
 
 Mrs. Delanty, going easily beside her, 
 assured her that there was no hurry, that the 
 hounds weren't really running, that the way to 
 hold a horse was give and take, and that if you 
 trusted to Jimmy Doyle you might find your- 
 self the Dear knows where. Who the Dear 
 might be there was no time to inquire : 
 Katharine was only aware that they had now 
 been steered into a cart-track, that the ruts 
 were deep, and that Dermot's neck had turned 
 to iron. Where they were going, or what was 
 happening, she did not know ; if this were a
 
 112 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 run she thought it highly unpleasant and quite 
 unmeaning. Mr. Fitz-Symons was now dash- 
 ing through a farmyard, with hens and geese 
 in shrieking flight round him, cur-dogs barking 
 hysterically, and, somewhere in the background, 
 a mother slamming a half-door upon a flock of 
 children ; then came a squeeze round the end 
 of a gate, immovably ajar in the mud, and then 
 they were all but on to a stony road that 
 elbowed its way up and over the hill in which 
 was still hidden the secret of the hounds. With 
 stones flying, and horses beginning to blow, 
 the quintette galloped furiously up the road, 
 headed by the Master and Mrs. Delanty, 
 between whom a strange alliance had manifested 
 itself. 
 
 It was at about this juncture that the first 
 flash of doubt of her leaders shot, like a flicker 
 of neuralgia, through the soul of Katharine. 
 They were nearing the top of the hill, green 
 fields were spreading on either side, why then 
 continue to career along a road like a riding- 
 school gone mad ? 
 
 A similar flicker had apparently assailed 
 Mr. Fanshawe. 
 
 " I'm damned if I know what we're at ! " he 
 said to his comrade red-coat, " busting along 
 a road like this for nothing ! "
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 113 
 
 The comrade replied, with suitable vigour 
 of language, that they had made an error of 
 judgment in not having gone up the hill at first. 
 
 " Well, I've had enough of this rot," said 
 Mr. Fanshawe, leaving the riding-school ranks 
 abruptly, and facing his reluctant and well- 
 blown horse at the bank by the roadside. 
 " They're bound to be somewhere this way." 
 
 His comrade did likewise, and the remnant 
 of the road-riders swept on, leaving behind 
 them the displeasing conflict between indignant 
 horses and angry men. 
 
 It was a level ground now, a table-land at 
 the top of the hill. The Master pulled up, 
 and he and his attendant ladies paused, with 
 the horses' sides going and their tails twitch- 
 ing, while the sun shone down upon them and 
 their anxieties in complete leisure and uncon- 
 cern. A quarter of a mile away there were 
 two men standing on a fence. 
 
 " There they are ! " exclaimed Mrs. Delanty, 
 discovering the greater in the less in defiance 
 of Euclid, "and they're not hunting! I knew 
 that stale line was nonsense." 
 
 Far away to the left a red-coated rider was 
 moving towards them slowly. Mr. Fitz-Symons 
 snatched at his horn and blew several long and 
 fierce blasts upon it.
 
 114 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 " Now you see how nicely we've hit them 
 off!" said the widow to her dubious disciple, 
 " instead of killing the horses for nothing over 
 that hill ! Poor Dermot's carrying a good two 
 stone more now than he ever had to do with 
 poor little me ! " 
 
 Not a hair of Mrs. Delanty's head had 
 moved from its set place, her colour had 
 deepened but had also remained within its 
 proper sphere ; she had an indisputably neat 
 seat on a horse. 
 
 "Oh for goodness' sake look at poor Fan- 
 shawe ! The short cut didn't thrive with 
 him ! " 
 
 That ardent youth was now returning to 
 the road, a process apparently as difficult as 
 leaving had been. There was a green stain on 
 the knee of his breeches, and mud on his 
 horse's shoulder ; it was obvious that the 
 period of his absence had not been devoid of 
 incident. Three fields away, his companion's 
 head appeared and disappeared periodically 
 above the line of a fence, like a revolving 
 light, in correspondence, presumably with the 
 refusals of his horse. 
 
 John Michael, with his following, was by 
 this time within hail, advancing in silence, 
 accepting his step-brother's loud and full-bodied
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 115 
 
 criticisms upon his intellect and capacity with 
 the callousness learned in the House of 
 Bondage. 
 
 Mrs. Delanty winked at Katharine ; the 
 wink ricocheted off the flinty impassivity of 
 Miss Rowan's expression, and found its mark 
 in Mr. Fanshawe, who giggled responsively. 
 Katharine, with grey eyes as clear and ex- 
 pressionless as a cat's, looked straight in front 
 of her, and Mrs. Delanty became suddenly 
 aware of a quality in her proteg6 that she had 
 not before encountered. She regretted the 
 wink, though it seemed to her to express to 
 a nicety her own entire yet lenient grasp of 
 the position. " To^U co7?ipyendre, cest tout 
 pardonnerl' that was what the wink said. 
 After all (as she would have said to Katharine, 
 if Katharine's furious soul had been revealed 
 to her) it was the only fun old Gus got out of 
 the hunting, this swaggering and shouting and 
 cursing John Michael and everybody. And 
 Johnny — she thought of him as Johnny — wasn't 
 such a fool as to mind ; he knew well enough 
 that he had all the fun, and Gus did all the 
 paying.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 IT was a fox right enough," said John 
 Michael, in ultimate reply to his 
 brother, " they couldn't carry him on, 
 but I think he's not far off. They cried it to 
 Mahony's bounds. I was casting them when 
 you blew the horn." 
 
 " Well, you can cast them on to the road 
 now, and keep them there till you get to Mrs. 
 Delanty's plantation," answered the Master^ 
 " I'm not going on with any of your damned 
 stale lines ! " 
 
 It seemed to Katharine that the power of 
 money over the money-less could not be more 
 nakedly set forth. 
 
 The words were scarcely uttered when that 
 which is most suitably known in Ireland as **a 
 screech " broke from the two men on the 
 distant fence. The hounds sprang to attention ; 
 there was another screech, barbed with the 
 incomparable frenzy of those in the act of view- 
 ing a fox, and they were gone, like greyhounds 
 from the slips. 
 
 ii6
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 117 
 
 " For'rad ! For'rad ! For'rad ! " yelled 
 John Michael, transformed in one second into 
 a deaf maniac. Had he not been both, he could 
 hardly have ignored the bellow that commanded 
 him to hold hard, and not to make a fool of 
 the hounds, to — here even Mr. Fitz-Symons' 
 remarks were drowned in the whoop in which 
 Mr. Fanshawe released his soul, and, maniac 
 as John Michael, stormed in pursuit of him 
 over the wall that separated the road from the 
 hill. 
 
 " Now for it ! " said Dermot to Katharine, 
 hurtling over the wall hard on the heels of Mr. 
 Fanshawe's chestnut. 
 
 Katharine heard the inevitable voice of her 
 preceptress calling after her. 
 
 '• That's a dangerous thing to do ! " 
 
 But she was in a new world and Mrs. 
 Delanty was outside it. It was a limited 
 world, containing but one idea, Never again, 
 while life lasted, to let the hounds get out of 
 her sight. The idea was shared by Dermot, 
 which simplified matters in many ways, if not 
 in all. Another wall occurred ; round loose 
 stones, rising from the short mountainy grass, 
 and she knew for the first time the glory of 
 feeling a big horse jumping big out of his 
 stride ; other riders were there, pelting in front
 
 ii8 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 of her, beside her, thundering after her; the 
 bang-tail of John Michael's mare held her eye. 
 She thought, ** If I lose sight of it for an 
 instant I'm done fori" It did not seem to 
 her at all absurd. Ulick Adare had assured 
 her only the day before, that the cessation of 
 self-consciousness indicates the return to the 
 savage state, and that pure emotion is always 
 primitive : she had responded with an equal 
 affectation, that she liked savages, and preferred 
 them slightly stupid. This, he told her, only 
 betrayed her supreme effeteness. She was 
 now as frankly a savage as she could have 
 wished, and was unaware of it, which brought 
 her even nearer to her own ideal. 
 
 She was coming at the bank on which the 
 men had been standing, she was over it with- 
 out either thought or volition ; the men were 
 still ahead, running, shouting, gesticulating. 
 
 "It was beyond under the rock he was 
 lying ! " shrieked one of them, " The Villyan ! 
 Dhrive on your dogs into the smell ! " 
 
 " They have it ! They have it !" shrieked 
 the other. He struck his hands together, his 
 face scarlet, his eyes blazing. Whatever the 
 madness of the chase may be, he too was - 
 possessed by it. 
 
 A clash as from a steeple-full of bells shook
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 119 
 
 the air ; the hounds snatched at the Hne, a big 
 white and yellow dog-hound drove out to the 
 front with his head up, vociferating. 
 
 " 'Leu ! Trumpeter boy ! Trumpeter ! " 
 cried his huntsman, in a rapture of love, his 
 voice piercing the din ; " get to Trumpeter 
 there ! " The hounds crushed in together, 
 as if they were squeezing through a narrow 
 gateway, they lengthened out into a stream, 
 they fleeted, they sped, and the river of their 
 music flowed back to Katharine and she 
 galloped in it, and there was nothing else in 
 Heaven or earth. 
 
 Along the level grassy crest of the hill the 
 hounds ran, and certain things were revealed 
 to the novice. Primarily that Dermot was not 
 pulling, also that hounds did not get very far 
 away from those who kept close to John 
 Michael, and also, but this discovery she did 
 not make till the first check, that among the 
 dozen riders who were in it, were not the 
 Master and Mrs. Delanty. These things, how- 
 ever, were beside the point ; the central fact 
 was that she was there, and the Primitive 
 Hunter, who is at the back of all ancestries, 
 was shouting the fact into her ear, as she sat, 
 panting, and drove in hairpins, while hats were 
 straightened, and tics sliovcd in, and one red
 
 120 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 face beamed upon another in that sudden, 
 soul-to-soul comradeship that is oblivious of 
 complexion. How terrible, yet how improving, 
 to overhear, at such a moment, Jimmy Doyle 
 murmur to a colleague buckeen : 
 
 " Keep clear of her at a bank — she was into 
 the small of my back at the last place. That 
 horse jumps very quick ! " 
 
 Katharine moved slowly away, stricken to 
 the core of her vain-glory, and immediately the 
 hounds broke forth into their straining cry, 
 and her heart jumped up again into her throat, 
 and all was forgotten. The country that lies 
 like a map before the calm observer, again 
 began to rush at her in a series of disjointed 
 problems ; here was a bank with rotten ground 
 in front of it, over which the hounds skimmed 
 like swallows ; while the riders must swing 
 aside and scramble in single file up and through 
 a mire-choked cattle-gap ; it was agony to 
 wait her turn, and feel that hounds and hunts- 
 man were at each moment further away ; 
 ecstasy to hear the heavy brogue of some 
 philanthropist, adjuring his fellows to " Let 
 the lady through ! " Ecstasy again to feel her 
 horse gather himself for an extra effort and 
 gain on the leaders. They were turning off 
 the hill now, and heading downwards through
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 121 
 
 pale fields with sheep in them, and over thick 
 loose walls, on which the wiser horses changed 
 feet clatteringly ; not so Dermot, who, with 
 the fall of ground, was beginning again to get 
 the better of his rider, and was lessening at 
 each jump the space she endeavoured to 
 preserve between him and the small of Mr. 
 Doyle's back. With what felt like her last 
 ounce of strength she wrenched him out of 
 the direct wake of the black mare, and landed 
 much disorganised, elbow to elbow with the 
 black mare's rider in a marshy field, a flat, 
 heaven-sent field, in which the horses were at 
 once over their fetlocks. 
 
 They had arrived at the floor of a wide 
 valley, fifty yards ahead the hounds were 
 flitting to and fro in front of a long line of 
 rushes. Jimmy Doyle leaned over and laid 
 his hand on Katharine's reins. 
 
 *' Hold on awhile ; he might have run up 
 this side of it." (" This side of zc;/^^/? "thought 
 Katharine.) "No, by Jove! He's across 
 after all ! Now the fun will begin." 
 
 As he spoke, one hound after the other 
 rose into the air as if pitched up from a spring- 
 board. They were jumping something wide. 
 
 " That's the Kael ! " said Jimmy Doyle, and 
 looked at Miss Rowan with a peculiar grin.
 
 122 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 " Why ? " she said, answering the grin. 
 
 "You'll see that!" said Jimmy Doyle, be- 
 ginning to go. 
 
 John Michael was trotting fast along the 
 veree of what had now declared itself to be a 
 wide drain, full from black edge to black edge 
 with sleepy bog water. It was not a country 
 of water-jumps, and in any country the Kael 
 as a water-jump would have commanded re- 
 spect. John Michael scanned the boggy take- 
 off and the unprepossessing landing. 
 
 " Bad's the best!" he called back. Then, 
 pulling back from the drain some twenty yards 
 through the marshy grass, he drove the chest- 
 nut mare at it with the sudden fire that is 
 special and personal, like "■ attack " in music. 
 Her wild eye told that she was afraid of the 
 water, but her faithful heart kindled with John 
 Michael's. Water-jumping was not her branch 
 of the art, but to his shout she responded, and 
 with an effort she rose high at it as if it were 
 a wall, and got over with but little to spare. 
 As she landed her rider looked round quickly. 
 
 " Tom, you'd better show Miss Rowan the 
 way round by the bridge on Carthy's land." 
 
 " Sure it's half a mile to the bridge," said 
 Tom Coyne, sourly. "Try would he jump it, 
 Miss." 
 
 /
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 123 
 
 Fanshawe's chestnut had already refused 
 twice, very heartily; Jimmy Doyle was over, 
 by main strength, that is to say by flinging 
 himself off on to the further bank, and dragging 
 his receding mare out by the mouth, like a 
 fish. Katharine obeyed Tom Coyne, but 
 without conviction, a fact immediately appre- 
 ciated by Dermot. He rushed at the water 
 with deceitful speed, then with an equal speed, 
 turned and fled from it. This he did several 
 times, with growing enthusiasm ; one of the 
 farmers got across, and Mr. Fanshawe and his 
 horse fell in. Other riders started for the 
 bridge, and Katharine and Dermot continued 
 their dismal pas-seul on the trampled banks of 
 the Kael. 
 
 " It'd be as good for us to go on out of this. 
 Miss," said Tom Coyne, fretting at the delay, 
 yet with a humorous eye on the unhappy 
 Fanshawe, who, dripping with bog-stuff, was 
 holding his horse's head above water till help 
 should arrive. " There's plenty will be glad 
 to earn a shilling pulling him out that has more 
 time to spare than ourselves ! Faith, the 
 gentleman that came with him is worse than 
 him ! He's in up to his girths in a bog back 
 on Knockcoora ! " 
 
 The bridge was more than half a mile
 
 124 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 away ; all bridges are, under such circum- 
 stances. To Katharine it seemed like ten 
 miles, by the end of the leaden-hearted gallop 
 that brought them to it. The glow and the 
 inspiration were gone; the Primitive Hunter, 
 with his rudimentary tail between his legs, was 
 experiencing the seamy side of hunting. But 
 there still remained Tom Coyne, to whom 
 glows and inspirations were as nothing. The 
 hounds had passed out of existence, yet he 
 neither stopped nor stayed. It was all dark to 
 Katharine as the science, of navigation or the 
 deductions of the Augurs ; cattle, loose horses, 
 crows yielded instruction to Tom Coyne ; 
 human beings, invisible to her, were hailed at 
 their standpoint in space as " Young fella * ! " 
 and their incomprehensible replies translated 
 into action. He took the best place in each 
 fence as inevitably as water takes the line 
 of least resistance, and Miss Rowan in suicidal 
 depression, and momently becoming stiffer, 
 followed him abjectly. 
 
 They had progressed thus for a mile or so, 
 when a solitary hound was manifested on the 
 top of a fence. Tom Coyne stood up in his 
 stirrups and roared at it, and cracked his whip 
 like a pistol-shot. " Get forrad, Amazon ! " he 
 yelled.
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 125 
 
 " We have them now, Miss ! " he said, with 
 the mildness of one who is greater than his 
 triumph ; ** there might be some worse than us 
 
 yet ! " 
 
 Following the line of Amazon's flight, 
 Katharine saw afar off, John Michael, and 
 three or four other riders, crossing a road, and 
 struggling up a hill towards a clump of fir trees. 
 There was a patch of white among the fir 
 trees. 
 
 '• They have him to ground ! " said Tom 
 Coyne, spurring his tired horse. 
 
 There was a red coat in the trees among 
 the hounds, and a lady on horseback was 
 holding a horse beside them. 
 
 " Well, that beats the bees in the making 
 of wax ! " said Tom Coyne, jumping into the 
 road. 
 
 On the road was the outside car of Eily, 
 and from Eily and her companions a chorus of 
 squeals, as of questing plover, arose, announcing 
 to Katharine that they had seen the whole run, 
 that no road was too rough for them, that they 
 always stuck to the Master, that they had just 
 
 met Mr. Fanshawe's friend ! Here the 
 
 whole party became incoherent with laughter, 
 still plover-like. 
 
 At this juncture Katharine became aware
 
 126 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 of Mr. Adare, approaching at a high rate of 
 speed on his bicycle. 
 
 " I've seen the fox, I've seen the hounds, 
 and I've seen the Master and Mrs. Delanty, at 
 the top of the hunt ! " he said, dismounting, 
 and addressing Miss Rowan with a tranquillity 
 of manner somewhat at variance with the 
 speed of his approach. " They told me they 
 were the only people in it, and that you had 
 gone all wrong and were probably at the 
 bottom of a river; I was going to look for 
 you." 
 
 "Quite unnecessary, thanks," said 
 Katharine, who found his tone elder-brotherly, 
 and resented it. " I think I'll go on and 
 see what's happening up there." 
 
 She trotted on towards the hill, and left 
 him to escape as best he might from the 
 proffered sandwiches of Eily and her party.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 MISS ROWAN, seated at tea, with 
 muddy riding boots, a pot hat on 
 the back of her head, and a 
 poached egg on her plate, was still in the 
 savage state, and was boring her hearers with 
 the simplicity of a Red Indian brave. The 
 ignominious fmish of her hunt was forgotten, 
 and glory flowed from her. Fence by fence 
 went the narrative, higher and higher leaped 
 Dermot, more and more incomprehensible 
 grew the tangle of the geography, and through 
 all went, like the Great Twin Brethren, the 
 mighty presences of John Michael and Jimmy 
 Doyle. 
 
 Ulick Adare, lying back in his chair at the 
 other end of Mrs. Masterman's hearthrug, 
 listened to the Saga in the misanthropic silence 
 that might be expected from a non-hunting 
 male, who finds himself playing the attentive 
 Uesdemona to the adventure-ful Othello of a 
 breezy and booted female. Miss Rowan had 
 
 127
 
 128 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 brought back with her something of the large- 
 ness of windy hilltops, and the farness of wide 
 skies was in her face ; she had been deaHng 
 with primeval things, danger, and speed, and 
 the face of nature, and the chase, which is near 
 the heart of nature, and had dealt with them as 
 a man among men. Ulick Adare, who had a 
 no less comfortable conceit of himself than 
 other young men, found the part of Desdemona 
 not at all to his taste. It was a certain solace 
 to stand with his back to the fire, and feel that 
 he was six feet high, and had long, straight 
 legs, but it was preposterous that Katharine's 
 limpid grey eyes should deepen and glow when 
 she talked of one of these cave-dwellers jump- 
 ing a bog drain. 
 
 Mrs. Masterman, smoking a philosophic 
 cigarette in one of the more reliable of the 
 Delanty armchairs, was entirely aware of the 
 position, and found it entertaining. That 
 the sense of humour, on which her two young 
 friends so specially plumed themselves, should 
 at this juncture have deserted them both, was 
 a matter that she could dilate on pleasurably 
 in her next letter to William. William hunted, 
 too, but he would understand. 
 
 "Your friend, John Michael, certainly looks 
 his very best when he's riding," she said
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 129 
 
 reflectively. " He reminds me of a native 
 cavalryman ; he has just their peculiar light, 
 close seat on a horse." 
 
 Miss Rowan rose to the fly with pathetic 
 simplicity. " His riding is a revelation!" she 
 said solemnly. 
 
 "The Revelation of St. John-Michael the 
 Divine!" said Ulick Adare to the widow 
 Delanty's Invalided drawing-room clock. 
 
 Katharine got out of her chair with as 
 much dignity as was possible for a person to 
 whom every change of position was an anguish. 
 
 " I must go out and see that Dermot is all 
 right," she said very professionally, moving to 
 the door with a gait suggestive of wooden legs. 
 
 " If you don't have a hot bath soon," said 
 Mrs. Masterman, "you'll have to go to bed 
 in your habit." 
 
 Dermot's owner made no reply ; her depart- 
 ing footsteps lumbered slowly through the hall. 
 
 " I suppose I ought to have offered to go 
 too," said Mr. Adare, as he closed the door 
 behind her. 
 
 "My dear," said Mrs. Masterman, "she 
 doesn't want you. That's part of the game. 
 She wouldn't yield that privilege for worlds." 
 
 Ulick Adare sat down and occupied himself 
 with a picture paper, 
 
 K
 
 130 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 " How long do you suppose this obsession 
 will last ? " he said presently. 
 
 Mrs. Masterman was smocking something 
 for her youngest born, and regarded her handi- 
 work meditatively. 
 
 " For ever," she replied, selecting another 
 coloured silk, and threading her needle with 
 tranquil dexterity. 
 
 " That's a cheerful look-out for her friends ! " 
 
 " This acute phase won't last, you know," 
 returned Mrs. Masterman ; " she'll learn to 
 reserve it for her fellow maniacs." 
 
 " Fellow maniacs ! " repeated Mr. Adare, 
 getting up and kicking the fire. " Vulgar 
 people are never mad ! " 
 
 " That's rather interesting," said Mrs. 
 Masterman. " But I should put it the other 
 way, and say that mad people are never 
 vulgar. But I don't call John Michael mad, 
 or vulgar either. He's just a savage — a hand- 
 some savage, and I rather like the creature, 
 apart from his looks," she added, placing a 
 careful stitch and reviewing her company of 
 little pleats. 
 
 Ulick Adare put his hands in his pockets 
 and looked at her down his nose, and put 
 on his manner of the Spectator office. 
 
 " I shall write an essay upon the blighting
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX i-.i 
 
 J 
 
 effect of needlework on the female mind. I 
 have yet to meet the woman whom it does 
 not deteriorate. They become prim and 
 pragmatical, unspontaneous and self-sufficing." 
 
 " Dear, dear ! " said his cousin. 
 
 " A woman is a comrade when she smokes 
 a cigarette," he went on, unaware that even 
 as he fulminated he was yielding to that pro- 
 voking quality in the needleworker that makes 
 her desired as an audience — the restful quality 
 of something at anchor. " She is bereft of 
 either soul or sympathy when she's fumbling 
 among reels of cotton and secretly looking 
 for the scissors ! " 
 
 "Is it worse than hunting?" suggested 
 Mrs. Masterman. 
 
 " Not perhaps so absolutely obliterating 
 to the intellect, but more detrimental to 
 companionship." 
 
 Mrs. Masterman folded up her needlework, 
 and put it neatly away in its basket. 
 
 " My child," she said, "we have just twenty 
 minutes before it is time to dress. Sit down 
 and let us abuse them all comfortably. Bags 
 I Mrs. Delanty."
 
 A 
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 MILE and a half away the lady of 
 Mrs. Masterman's selection was hurry- 
 ing through a routine familiarized by 
 experience. With her own small and thoroughly 
 capable hands she had made a bran mash, a 
 matter requiring both method and muscle ; she 
 had bandaged the bay mare's legs as deftly 
 and firmly as a hospital nurse, and while doing 
 so had told Dinny the stable boy that there 
 had been a great hunt ; that the mare had 
 never put a foot wrong, and had been the first 
 up when the fox went to ground ; and Dinny 
 the stable-boy had rejoined politely — 
 
 " I wouldn't doubt her, ma'am," even though 
 he was as well aware as his employer of what 
 had occurred. 
 
 Having taken off her habit she had paid 
 a final visit to the stable to make sure that 
 all was well. Then, and not till then, did 
 the Widow Delanty, by this time a very tired 
 little widow, permit herself to sit down in 
 
 132
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 133 
 
 the kitchen and partake of a cup of tea. She 
 chose the kitchen because it was warm, and 
 also because from it she could still influence 
 for good the all-important affairs of the stable- 
 yard. 
 
 The person who supplied her with tea did 
 not do so without reproaches. 
 
 " It's a shame for you, Lily ! Look at the 
 tea, and it's as black as the pots with the way 
 you have it waiting on you ! " 
 
 " I don't care what colour it is, I'm dead 
 from the want of it ! " answered Mrs. Delanty, 
 expanding comfortably into her native tongue, 
 and helping herself to the buttered toast that 
 her elder sister took out of the oven. 
 
 Enormous are the advantages of those 
 that have meals in the kitchen ; the buttered 
 toast bubbled on its plate, the black and 
 broken nosed teapot gushed forth its steaming 
 flood with a freedom unknown to its drawing- 
 room relative ; the steady glow of the range 
 enveloped the widow's frozen little person. 
 She had ridden home at a walk, as was her 
 careful custom, and seven miles at a walk on a 
 chilly November evening is, as Miss Janetta 
 Scanlan was wont to say, " no laughing joke at 
 all." 
 
 Miss Scanlan and Mrs.. Delanty were,
 
 134 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 respectively, the eldest and the youngest 
 products of one of those prolific middle-class 
 unions which are, we are assured, the props 
 and stays of the realm. In whatever manner 
 the realm may have benefited by the addition 
 to it of eighteen Scanlans, it is quite certain 
 that the eldest daughter of the house had 
 found her brethren neither props nor stays. 
 In Miss Janetta Scanlan's youth, education, 
 especially for females, was deemed a superfluity, 
 and the family^ talent for marriage not being 
 bestowed upon her, she had spent her life 
 as unpaid nursery maid, unpaid dressmaker, 
 and unpaid sick nurse to her relations. Having 
 no money she had no influence, standing or 
 significance, a discreditable state of things not 
 peculiar to Miss Scanlan's class or country, 
 though being Ireland, good nature and family 
 feeling entered into the matter more than they 
 might have done elsewhere. Now, as cook, 
 lady's maid, and upper-housen aid, to her 
 sister Delanty, she was in what '.he felt to be 
 the zenith of her ambitionless career. Lily's 
 yoke was considerably lighter than that of her 
 sister-in-law, Mrs. Joseph, or Mrs. Michael, or 
 Mrs. Jeremiah Scanlan, with all of whom she 
 had, in her time, partaken of the bread of 
 affliction and the water of affliction, and Lily's
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 135 
 
 looks, her social success, and her horseman- 
 ship, were articles of her profoundest belief. 
 When Lily lost her temper, which she did 
 frequently and thoroughly, her elder sister 
 regarded it as one of the privileges of a settled 
 income, and felt herself more than repaid when 
 she was permitted to put on her "Sunday 
 dress " and join with Mrs. Fitz-Symons or 
 Captain Bolger in devouring the hot cakes that 
 she herself had compounded. 
 
 '•Where's Kate.?" said Mrs. Delanty, her 
 practised eye swiftly taking in all the details of 
 the kitchen. 
 
 " Out milking the cow." 
 
 "A nice time to be milking at half-past 
 six ! " commented Kate's mistress. '* Did she 
 darn those stockings for me ? " 
 
 '• No, I did them myself," said Miss 
 Scanlan, who cherished for Kate the General 
 an illicit sympathy born of arduous fel- 
 low-service. " You were saying that poor 
 Dermot was going grand with the young 
 lady ? " 
 
 ** He was doing what he liked with her, if 
 )ou call that grand ! " said Mrs. Delanty, 
 relinquishing for the moment the misdeeds of 
 Kate, but by no means forgetting them. " I'm 
 sorry now I sold liim to her. A steady old
 
 136 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 crock, that's what she wants — it's all she's fit 
 for, anyhow ! " 
 
 ** I suppose she was following you all day ? " 
 said the faithful Janetta. 
 
 " She thought she'd do better running after 
 John Michael and Jimmy Doyle, and believe 
 me, they had enough of her before the day was 
 out ! " replied Mrs. Delanty, beginning to talk 
 very fast; " if she had followed me and Gus Fitz- 
 Symons she mightn't have been the last up." 
 
 The outer door of the kitchen here opened 
 violently, and Kate the General burst in with 
 a foaming can of milk in one hand, a lantern 
 in the other, and a healthful countenance 
 blazing with tidings. 
 
 " There's a gentleman after coming into the 
 yard ! " she hissed. " I'd say it was the one 
 was here last Sunday, and he leading a foxy 
 horse, and it lame ! " 
 
 " Light the drawing-room fire ! " commanded 
 the widow, already on her feet. "It's 
 Fanshawe ! If the horse is very bad he might 
 have to stay for dinner ! " 
 
 *' Merciful God ! " interjected Kate, dashing 
 the wisps of yellow hair out of her eyes. 
 
 "I'll give you word as soon as I can. 
 There's a tin of soup — devil what's left of the 
 beef — a sweet omelette — toasted cheese — don't
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 137 
 
 open the soup till I give you word ! " 
 
 She snatched the lantern out of Kate's red fist 
 and was gone. 
 
 Miss Scanlan said nothing ; she had already 
 caught up a paraffin can and a box of matches, 
 and was away, like an incendiary, to the 
 drawing-room. 
 
 As Mrs. Delanty faced once more the 
 darkness and the cold wind of the yard she 
 said to herself that if Mr. Fanshawe and his 
 horse remained where she had last heard of 
 them, at the bottom of the Kael, it would not 
 have broken her heart. That he should have 
 turned to her in his hour of need was, no 
 doubt, gratifying, but she could have wished 
 that the^ hour of need had not coincided with 
 one of the few moments of real enjoyment that 
 she had known that day. 
 
 The plight of the youth Fanshawe might 
 indeed have moved to compassion a harder 
 heart than that of the widow. The foxy horse 
 was standing upon three legs, the fourth, of 
 which only the toe touched the ground, was 
 swaddled in rags. His suffering eye glinted 
 white in the light of the lantern. 
 
 " Better get those dirty things off till we 
 look at it," said Mrs. Delanty, authoritatively, 
 putting the lantern on the ground.
 
 138 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 Her practised fingers dealt speedily with 
 the boot laces and the crooked pins by means 
 of which the rags were kept in situ. The 
 horse drooped his long nose over her, and 
 touched her hair at intervals with his lips. 
 
 " No, I'll not hurt you, poor boy ! " she 
 said, accepting the warning, as she finally laid 
 bare a jagged loose-lipped wound at the back 
 of the white fetlock. " It's deep enough," 
 she pronounced after a survey. " I suppose 
 he did it getting out of the Kael. Those 
 slatey stones in the bog-stuff are the mischief! 
 I know enough of the Kael to keep clear of 
 it when I can ! " 
 
 ** Well, if you ask me," said Fanshawe, 
 in profound gloom, " I should say there wasn't 
 a fence in this blessed country where he mightn't 
 have done it. Anyhow, I noticed it first when 
 I got him out of the Kael, if that's what you 
 call the beastly place." 
 
 " It's not a fair place to ask a horse to 
 jump," said Mrs. Delanty, " the Master and I 
 took a different line altogether. Big jumping 
 we had too — and there was no one but our- 
 selves with them when he went to ground." 
 
 " A lot of people had to chuck it," said 
 Fanshawe, " Miss Rowan, for one." 
 
 " So I heard," said the widow, eagerly.
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 139 
 
 " Pity too. She'd been going great guns 
 up to that. I know I wish Pd chucked it. I 
 had a dozen fellows dragging at the horse to 
 get him out. He wouldn't even try. He 
 just looked at 'em and said, ' Leave it to you, 
 partner ! ' Sickening brute ! Nothing but 
 main strength and the ropes did it. We got 
 him up to a farmhouse and they rubbed him 
 down a bit, and washed the cut." 
 
 " Washed ! " interjected Mrs. Delanty, 
 witheringly. " I wonder did they tell you 
 when the rags were washed ! " 
 
 *' I believe the woman took them out of a 
 hole in the wall of a cowhouse," said Fanshawe, 
 vaguely. 
 
 " I wouldn't wonder ! " said the widow. 
 
 " They were awfully decent anyhow. Jolly 
 nice people, I call them. I got dried there, 
 and they gave me a glass of whisky. My 
 word ! 1 tell you that ivas whisky 1 Old 
 Clery was there ; he said it was great stuff, 
 it'd make a rabbit spit at a dog ! I say, you 
 do say funny things over here ! " 
 
 " I dare say between you and old Clery, 
 there wasn't much left for the rabbit ! " retorted 
 the widow. " You'd say so anyhow by the 
 way the bandages were put on ! " 
 
 " Oh, help ! Don't hit a man when he's
 
 I40 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 down ! " appealed Mr. Fanshawe, whoITy out- 
 classed, and aware of it ; " you're my only 
 hope ! I thought I should have got him to 
 the station, but it was getting worse all the 
 time, and when I got to your gate I thought 
 the only thing for it was to wire for the motor 
 and throw myself on your mercy. I know 
 
 you're a champion vet " He looked at 
 
 her humbly as he knelt beside her. 
 
 She glanced at him without replying, and 
 Mr. Fanshawe said to himself that she was a 
 little ripper. 
 
 Here Mrs. Delanty went to the house, and 
 returned with bandages and bottles. She had 
 also ordered the tin of soup to be opened. 
 
 Two hours later. Miss Scanlan, with a 
 deep relief, found herself once more "below 
 stairs " and in the comfortable society of Kate. 
 
 " Well, the omelette was grand," she said, 
 tying a blue apron over her black best dress, 
 "and you did first-rate in the parlour too ! " 
 
 " Thank you, Miss," said poor Kate, whose 
 face blazed like fire from mental stress as well 
 as physical exertion. " Faith, I'm as tired this 
 minute as if I was after walking to Cork with 
 a bag o' male on me back ! " 
 
 " You only made but the one mistake," con- 
 tinued Miss Janetta, " when you offered him the
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 141 
 
 omelette and he having no plate in front of 
 him ! " 
 
 " Glory be to God ! Didn't I feel the eye 
 mistress put on me!" answered Kate with 
 emotion. " When a thing'd go wrong that 
 way, an' I goin' round the ladies and gentle- 
 men, I'd busht out shweatin' ! " 
 
 " Indeed / wouldn't blame you ! " responded 
 Miss Janetta, sympathetically. " Here now," 
 she went on, ** finish up the omelette yourself. 
 You didn't get your tea yet." 
 
 Some code of Kate's own sent her away 
 into the scullery, there, darkling, to devour the 
 booty ; Miss Janette might be a fellow con- 
 spirator, but an instinct, which Kate could not 
 have explained, decreed that she should not 
 eat in her presence. It was known, as all 
 things are known to servants, and more 
 especially to Irish servants, that Miss Janetta's 
 mother, that unhappy lady who had offered 
 eighteen pledges of affection to the Waterford 
 butter merchant, had come of what is spoken 
 of, even in these days, as " owld stock," and 
 the fact was not forgotten. 
 
 The drawing-room bell rang, suddenly, 
 angrily, tossing itself head over heels on its 
 spiral spring under the ceiling. 
 
 "Mercy, Kate!" ejaculated Miss Janetta,
 
 142 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 " that's for the coffee ! And not a sign of a 
 boil out of the kettle ! " 
 
 Her collaborator burst from the scullery 
 like a luggage train from a tunnel. 
 
 " Oh God ! " she said, comprehensively, 
 and with entire reverence. 
 
 Upstairs in the drawing-room the lady of 
 the house sat in a mauve tea-gown, and smoked 
 Fanshawe's cigarettes, and secretly found him 
 rather a bore, as much, at least, as any man 
 could be a bore to Mrs. Delanty. Her guest 
 lay back in a tall grandfather chair (Mrs. 
 Delanty had successfully acquired a flair for 
 auctions and old furniture), looking, in his 
 muddy hunting clothes, like a Caldecott draw- 
 ing, and talked interminably of himself and 
 his horses. The spick and span little drawing- 
 room was warm and bright, the dinner, that 
 gallant impromptu, had imparted a mellow 
 mood of well-being, the lamp shed a pink and 
 soothing glow upon all things, and especially 
 upon the soft dark eyes and delicately cut 
 features of his little hostess. He was now 
 luxuriously giving her, in all its details, the 
 history of the roan horse he had bought from 
 O'Callaghan— " Calligan " he called him— of 
 what he had said to O'Callaghan, of what 
 O'Callaghan had said to him. He had even
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 143 
 
 imparted to her the price he had paid to 
 O'Callaghan. Mrs. Delanty, who had long 
 been acquainted with the facts, was neverthe- 
 less gratified by the confidences. She raised 
 her pencilled eyebrows with a proper surprise 
 that O'Callaghan should have been so worsted 
 in the contest. She sweetly declined the 
 suggestion that she should come over and 
 have a ride on the road with the X.H. ; it 
 was, she said, her rule neither to borrow nor 
 to lend a horse. " Poor people could not 
 afford to do these things," she added, with 
 a pathos that was not entirely assumed. 
 
 *' Oh, but I wish you would, really," pro- 
 tested Fanshawe, who was realizing more at 
 each moment what a nice little woman she was, 
 and how pretty. "I want to pass him on to 
 my eldest brother, and it would make all the 
 difference if I could say he was fit for his wife 
 to ride." 
 
 Mrs. Delanty felt as if a window had been 
 suddenly opened and a chill wind had struck 
 her in the face. Any man was to her a possi- 
 bility ; that was the creed in which she and the 
 Scanlan sisterhood had been brought up, and 
 when the possibility was a tall and seemly 
 youth, possessed of a motor and three horses, 
 and of a palpable admiration for herself, she
 
 144 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 had, quite in the back of her mind, constructed 
 a little cobweb palace in which she, a charming 
 and fashionable spider, should reside in company 
 with this most eligible fly. The palace should 
 be in England, of course ; England was so 
 much smarter than Ireland. 
 
 "Oh, any horse will carry a lady," she said, 
 while the cobweb palace trembled in that same 
 chill wind. " Many a one I've got up on that 
 never had so much as a rug on him ! " 
 
 " Oh, but you ! " said Mr. Fanshawe, 
 
 looking at her with eyes that watered slightly, 
 the result partly of the wind, partly of the fire, 
 and partly of a sudden burst of affection, ^' yoiL 
 could ride anything ! That's what it is to have 
 hands, you know — such little hands too ! " 
 
 Here Mr. Fanshawe adventurously laid 
 hold of Mrs. Delanty's wrist and regarded the 
 hand in question with a fond, if not drivelling, 
 smile. 
 
 Mrs. Delanty's prettily startled eyes looked 
 into his for a bewildering moment, and Fan- 
 shawe's fingers trembled. 
 
 "No, no!" said Mrs. Delanty, maternally, 
 and withdrew her hand. 
 
 '* Oh, but I say " remonstrated her 
 
 young friend, looking ineffably silly, *' mayn't I 
 just look at it ?"
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 145 
 
 *' You may look at it as much as you like," 
 returned Mrs. Delanty, spreading her little claw 
 in the air like a starfish. '* It's not so small 
 that you can't see it from a respectable dis- 
 tance ! " 
 
 " You're very unkind to me ! " lamented 
 Fanshawe. 
 
 " Don't cry !" mocked the widow. " Little 
 boys can't have everything they want ! There 
 now, I believe I hear your motor coming for 
 you this minute." 
 
 " Oh, hang the motor ! " said Fanshawe, 
 subsiding. 
 
 Mrs. Delanty swept her lashes upwards 
 with a laugh in her eye that told him she was 
 not irrevocal)ly offended. 
 
 She had laid to heart one or two things in 
 
 o 
 
 the course of her career, and without beino- 
 particularly well acquainted with Byron, she 
 had formed the opinion that man's after-dinner 
 love is of man's life a thing apart, and also that 
 to permit sporadic demonstrations of this kind 
 was a tactical error.
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 ** '^ I ^ HEY look tired enough, the crea- 
 I tures ! " said Mrs. Fitz-Symons, 
 
 -*- standing in the middle kennel yard 
 with her hands on her hips, "there's some of 
 them won't be fit to go out on Friday." 
 
 John Michael, seated on an upturned bucket 
 with a hound between his knees, grunted re- 
 pressively. No man likes to be told that his 
 hounds are not fit to go out, least of all when 
 he knows it himself. 
 
 " Look at old Governess and the way her 
 eyes are back in her head ! You'd say she was 
 dying this minute!" 
 
 It was a sunny morning, and the hounds 
 were lying like flies about the yard. One, 
 presumably Governess, flopped a languid stern 
 on the flags at the mention of her name, and 
 one or two of the younger ones dragged them- 
 selves, yawning, on to their legs, and strolled 
 to the railing between the yards to pay their 
 respects to the visitor. 
 
 146
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 147 
 
 " They had as hard a day yesterday as they 
 had this good while," said John Michael, pour- 
 ing an evil-smelling decoction into the palm of 
 his hand and proceeding to scrub it into his 
 victim's shoulder. " This one hurt himself 
 somehow coming down Moragh Hill, and a 
 good few of them got thorns in their feet, but 
 they'd do it again to-day if I asked them." 
 
 " Gus was greatly pleased with the way 
 they behaved," said Mrs. Fitz-Symons, well 
 aware that this gratifying fact was not likely to 
 reach her younger son save through her, " and 
 above all what delighted him was that he would 
 be the one to cheer them when they marked the 
 fox at the hole ! Was it true what Tom Coyne 
 tells me, that Lily Delanty was with Gus every 
 foot of the way ? and neither of the pair of 
 them ever jumped a fence at all ! " 
 
 Mrs. Fitz-Symons lowered her voice to the 
 conspirator's pitch. 
 
 " How would I know ? " returned her son. 
 " Whenever I crossed a road they were on it 
 before me. When Jimmy Doyle and myself 
 saw them before us at the earth I declare we 
 had to laugh ! " 
 
 " I hope in God Gus isn't taking a notion of 
 her again ! " said Mrs. Fitz-Symons, moving 
 ponderously round in order to see her son's face.
 
 148 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 John Michael's hazel eyes met hers ex- 
 pressionlessly, while his broad-topped fingers 
 delicately explored the hound's shoulder. 
 
 " He's torn the ligament," he said. 
 
 " Very well, I hope you'll like her when 
 she's your sister-in-law, and you and me are 
 put out on the roadside ! " exclaimed his mother, 
 noting, even in her wrath, how dark and curled 
 were his long eyelashes, how smooth and clear 
 the curve of his cheek. " Well, Lily Delanty 
 won't get him anyway ! " she said to herself, 
 with the intense possessiveness of a mother in 
 her eye as she looked at him, " not if she was 
 to put her eyes on sticks ! " 
 
 " She's so fond of the road she wouldn't 
 give you as much as the side of it itself! " said 
 John Michael, with unwonted readiness. 
 
 Mrs. Fitz-Symons flung back her head and 
 cackled a quick appreciation of the jest. She 
 laughed so loudly, in fact, that the two puppies 
 of her latest rearing raised their heads and 
 smiled sympathetically. "Well done, Johnny ! 
 I declare I'd give a pound to tell her you said 
 that ! Look at my darling Buxom and Blue- 
 maid, and they laughing too ! " 
 
 " I wonder they're not too tired," said her 
 son. 
 
 " Well, if I was on my dying bed I'd
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 149 
 
 have to laugh at that ! " said his proud 
 mother. 
 
 Something like a coach-horn, blown with 
 extraordinary sonority, sounded from afar. 
 
 " That's Mr. Fanshawe's motor," remarked 
 John Michael. " He was over to Mrs. De- 
 lanty's this morning to look at his horse." 
 
 His mother immediately bundled out of 
 the yard to a point of observation, and the 
 motor boomed and buzzed past, with a renewed 
 extravaganza in her honour. 
 
 " Well, that beats all ! " she said, returning 
 to the yard, where the hounds, who had started 
 to attention, were sulkily resuming their slum- 
 bers. "Talk of an angel indeed! Who do 
 you think was with Fanshawe in it, only me 
 lady Delanty ! Listen to them now ! " as a 
 clarion call, already half a mile away, pro- 
 claimed the progress of the party through the 
 country. " And if you'll believe me, she had 
 that poor old Janetta stuck up all alone in the 
 back seat ! You'd pity the creature, she looked 
 so frightened ! She has her there for pro- 
 priety, I suppose. Well, well, well ! Thank 
 God no one's asking me to go in a motor, and 
 what's more, I wouldn't go if they did, for I 
 haven't so much as put my nose into the 
 kitchen this blessed morning !
 
 150 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 " Mary Anne will have your life," remarked 
 John Michael, rising to his feet. 
 
 " She's welcome to it ! " retorted his mother. 
 " I'd sooner go without my dinner any day 
 than be bothered ordering it ! But that wouldn't 
 do for Gus ! " 
 
 "Well, you needn't order lunch for me 
 anyhow. I'm going away over the hill to see 
 did they open the holes in the Lake View 
 covert last night." 
 
 Mrs. Fitz-Symons' blue eyes brightened. 
 
 " Sure they'd give you a bit of luncheon 
 there," she said quickly. *• I don't like your 
 going without your meals this way, my doatie 
 boy." 
 
 "I'll not go to Lake View house, if that's what 
 you mean," answered John Michael with equal 
 speed, looking both stubborn and frightened. 
 
 Faintly, across the fields, from a new and 
 unexpected point of the compass, came the 
 blatant chant of the '* Gabriel-horn." 
 
 Mrs. Fitz-Symons and her son regarded 
 one another in complete stillness. 
 
 " It's up at the house," breathed Mrs. Fitz 
 Symons, fatefully. 
 
 " Well, I'm off," said John Michael, with 
 the iron determination that even the weakest 
 of men can show in such an emergency.
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 151 
 
 Mrs. Fitz-Symons uttered a groan like a 
 horse on its deathbed. "Go to Lake View!" 
 she called after him. 
 
 His way took him south, with the sun in 
 his face, and the light wind followed him. So 
 also did the two white wire-haired kennel 
 terriers, Dhoosh and Sue, serious, like their 
 master, and, like him, possessed of souls given 
 singly to the chase. He went up through steep 
 fields, where his step-brother's cattle were 
 grazing desultorily among clumps of furze and 
 rusty bracken ; he would tell Gus, he thought, 
 that it'd be as good for them to be inside as to 
 be walking the flesh off their bones for the 
 sake of what grass they could pick off the bare 
 ground. He went higher, and the rocks came 
 shouldering up through the thin soil, and the 
 grass was yellow and coarse, and the furze 
 grew low and thick in many a place where he 
 himself had put a match to it in the year that 
 was past. There was a cold warble of water 
 somewhere near, and soon he stepped across a 
 hill-stream, hidden in a deep channel under 
 briars on which a tawny leaf or two still hung. 
 He heard the dogs splashing in its depths, 
 gathering information about water-rats, and he 
 kicked a stone down through the tangle, just 
 to provide them with a sensation. A short
 
 152 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 distance ahead of him a couple of snipe shot 
 up from a damp patch, uttering their dry 
 rasping cry, and fled down the wind, soaring 
 and diving in sickle swoops. John Michael 
 brought his stick to his shoulder, following 
 them with it against the pale blue sky, and 
 said to himself that he wished he had thought to 
 bring the gun out of the kennels with him. The 
 dogs, who had burst out of the stream at the 
 sound, looked at him questioningly. 
 
 ** Was it a rat ? " they said ; ** my father, 
 shall we smite them ? " 
 
 John Michael laughed at them. 
 
 "You know well," he told them, "if I'd 
 had a shot at those lads the pair of you would 
 have been half-way home by now ! " 
 
 Dhoosh and Sue were gun-shy, a fact 
 which they desperately endeavoured to conceal. 
 
 John Michael went on his way, walking 
 lightly and fast up the broken ground. He 
 passed without a glance a ring of rough stones 
 set upright round a level place on the hill-side, 
 like a group of grey women ; humble, unlovely, 
 witnesses to a forgotten worship, and a dim, 
 half- forgotten race. He spoke of them, as 
 every one else did, as the Standing Stones ; 
 he could have told you of three or four other 
 circles like this one, and he would have added
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 153 
 
 that often he had picked up the drag of a fox 
 just here-abouts. It certainly would not have 
 occurred to him that he had anything in 
 common with those past and primitive hunters 
 who had set them up. 
 
 A little further on were the broken walls of 
 a roofless cottage ("a cowlach," John Michael 
 called it), and he straightway thought of the 
 stoat whom, more than once, he had seen 
 dodging about it. The ground lay in hum- 
 mocks and ridges, like an old graveyard ; he 
 was walking over what had been the potato plot 
 of the cottage, where the potatoes had melted 
 to black slime in the days of the Famine. It was 
 grown over now with heather and bracken, and 
 where the door of the cottage had been was an 
 entanglement of briars, strong as barbed wire. 
 The dogs were yelping in the nettles and briars 
 inside the walls. Decidedly the stoat was in it. 
 
 "They'll not stir him!" thought John 
 Michael. " A pity they wouldn't get him in 
 the open ! " 
 
 He had not the heart to call them out of 
 il, and he stood for a moment and listened. 
 Something went in little jumps through the 
 heather above the cottage ; his eye, quick as 
 a cat's, caught the whisk of a tiny black tail, 
 like the tail of a fairy horse.
 
 154 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 "Hulla! HuUa! Urrish ! Sue! Urrish! 
 Dhoosh ! " yelled John Michael, as many a 
 bare-legged hunter before him had yelled on 
 that hill-side. 
 
 Dhoosh and Sue responded with the 
 shrieks of souls in torment. The stoat's bolt- 
 hole was too small for them ; two agonized 
 white faces showed for a second at the top of 
 the wall of the cowlach and fell back again. 
 John Michael uttered another pre-historic 
 howl, and, as if lifted by its inspiration, they 
 were on the top of the wall, and down into the 
 heather on the other side. The chase was 
 a hot one, and Dhoosh and Sue and John 
 Michael made as much noise over it as if they 
 were two packs of foxhounds. At intervals, 
 between the bunches of heather and furze- 
 bushes, he saw the stoat, going at that peculiar 
 frisky gallop that seems so casual and is so 
 very much to the point, and on these occasions 
 the screeches that he gave vent to were highly 
 creditable to his wind and condition, consider- 
 ing that he was running up hill and keeping 
 on very fair terms with the dogs. At one 
 point they had a long check, during which 
 John Michael thrashed the furze bushes, and 
 the dogs, completely off their heads, as is the 
 wont of terriers, went with frog-springs, and
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 155 
 
 kangaroo-bounds, through the heather, hoarsely 
 panting with indignation, pausing only to flap 
 their torn ears, and to stare at John Michael in 
 a frenzy of questioning. 
 
 Neither Dhoosh nor Sue had, it is hardly 
 necessary to say, the smallest desire to eat the 
 stoat, nor would it have occurred to John 
 Michael to say that he was righteously engaged 
 in the destruction of vermin ; he and the 
 terriers were in the grip of an identical passion, 
 the passion of the Chase, that had swayed the 
 men of these hills since before the beginning 
 of time. The ragged outline of an old wall 
 was silhouetted against the sky along the crest 
 of the hill. 
 
 " I'll cast them on there," he thought, 
 "it's there he's gone! Hulla! Try forrad, 
 Uhoosh ! Try forrad, Sue, good dogs ! " 
 
 He sprinted up the hill ; not a kern of a 
 score of centuries back would have tackled it 
 in better style. The dogs raced with him, 
 their heads up ; they knew that if sport were 
 to be had he would show it to them. On the 
 crisp turf along the ridge of the hill they 
 picked up the line again, but the wall beat 
 them ; and somewhere down in its ancient 
 foundations the stoat heard them, and laughed 
 in its impish heart.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 THE baffled squeals of Dhoosh and Sue 
 were heard also, but by quite another 
 person, who was seated, with her 
 back to a rock, a little lower down on the 
 southern side of the hill. The squeals were, 
 for some time, mingled in the ears of this 
 person with the measured accents of a voice 
 that was reading aloud, the voice of Ulick 
 Adare, who was reading to Katharine with the 
 seriousness that no author, however keen may 
 be his sense of humour, is able to withhold 
 from his own handiwork. Katharine had, up 
 to this point, been a perfectly satisfactory 
 audience. The sentences winged their way, 
 like birds of strong flight, they took her with 
 them away into the world of ideas. Fragments 
 of the poetry he was criticizing came in, and 
 stirred her like music. 
 
 " One in whose gentle bosom I 
 
 Could tell my inmost heart of woes, 
 Like the care-burthencd honey-fly 
 That hides his murmurs in the rose." 
 
 156
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 157 
 
 The metaphor gathered to its close and fell 
 like a dew-drop ; he was silent for a moment, 
 and she was silent too, just as he would have 
 wished her to be. He went on reading, and 
 at intervals she murmured appreciation ; she 
 sat upright, and glowed at him in full-hearted 
 enthusiasm, she told him, with eyes of the 
 clearest and greyest sincerity, that she had 
 always felt the things that he had said, but 
 had never known how to say them. She was 
 at all times direct in her methods, and he, who 
 had often explained to her the superior attrac- 
 tiveness of suggestion and subtlety, met her 
 honest eyes with a catch of the heart, and 
 thought that last summer had come again. 
 
 In the shelter of the rock, with the midday 
 sun full on them, it was indeed as warm as 
 summer. The hill, pale yellow and brown, 
 flowed down below them to the dark firwood 
 behind the house. The smoke from the 
 chimneys spired blucly up in the tranquil air ; 
 bluer than it, and many times bluer than the 
 pale sky, the lake lay like a patch of a pea- 
 cock's breast in a setting of gold, where the 
 dead reeds held the sun. The leisurely rattle 
 of a cart came up from the grey road, and be- 
 side the lake a ploughman was calling to his 
 horses. The seagulls that stooped and
 
 158 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 clustered in the wake of the plough looked like 
 white butterflies. At the end of a sentence 
 Adare looked at her for an instant, and with 
 that, lost his place, and laughed, and said, " I'm 
 dazzled by the sun in your hair ! " 
 
 Katharine did not hear him, she had turned 
 her head aside, and was listening to another 
 voice, voices rather. 
 
 " I'm sorry," she said, " I didn't catch that 
 last sentence." 
 
 " Oh, it was nothing " 
 
 When a shy heart speaks, and Ulick Adare 
 had the shy heart that is born of the sense of 
 humour — it cannot utter itself twice. 
 
 ** There it is again ! Don't you hear it .-* 
 As if a dog were being hurt " 
 
 She started to her feet. Round the end of 
 the rock came a spying face, and looked at 
 them, the white face of Sue, with, as it were, 
 a red handkerchief wrapped round it. 
 
 " Oh, it's covered with blood ! " cried 
 Katharine, in horror. " It's throat has been 
 cut ! " 
 
 Ulick Adare glanced at Sue under the peak 
 of his cap, and said, with a want of sympathy 
 that under the circumstances was pardonable — 
 
 " It has torn its ears in the briars. The 
 audience can keep their seats."
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 159 
 
 He too had kept terriers, and had hunted 
 rabbits, long ago, in the County Wicklow. 
 
 " How odious you are ! " said Katharine, 
 kneeHng down and deHcately examining the 
 torn tan ears. " I believe it's Mr. Fitz- 
 Symons' Sue." 
 
 At her name, the lady in question immedi- 
 ately flung herself on her side and languished 
 sycophantically. 
 
 " Here's her owner," said Ulick Adare in a 
 voice that bristled. " Hare you, Fitz-Symons ?" 
 
 " Good morning," replied John Michael, 
 standing amazed and snatching off his cap. 
 " Ah, don't touch her, Miss Rowan, she'll de- 
 stroy your gloves." 
 
 He was standing above her, and his face 
 had for background, that most beautiful of all 
 backgrounds, the blue deeps of the sky ; the 
 chase of the stoat had kindled his eyes and 
 warmed the clear brown of his skin. Katharine 
 looked up at liim, and finding that a quite un- 
 expected colour rose into her face, looked down 
 at Sue again. Adare saw the inexplicable 
 blush, and his heart stood still and cold for an 
 instant, and then sprang forward again with 
 a dizzy and wholly conventional desire to take 
 John Michael by his brown throat and pitch 
 iiim into the lake.
 
 i6o DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 Katharine, angrily reasoning with herself as 
 to the cause of the blush, decided that it was 
 the result partly of surprise, and partly because 
 Ulick Adare's indignation was so palpable that 
 she was ashamed of it. 
 
 Had Mr. Adare been a shade less dizzy he 
 might possibly have perceived the interrupter's 
 acute sense of his own superfluity. 
 
 " I was just going to have a look at the 
 earths below," apologized John Michael. 
 
 There was a pause, during which Katharine 
 communed with herself as to whether it would 
 be inhuman not to ask him to luncheon ; she 
 had remained on her knees, because to stand 
 up seemed over-polite, and to sit down again 
 beside Ulick Adare had, in some absurd way, 
 become impossible. Here Sue suddenly and 
 abundantly licked the nose of her sympathizer. 
 " Down, Sue ! " said John Michael. " I hope 
 your horse is all right after the hunt ? " he went 
 on, not because he wanted to make conversa- 
 tion, but because he was sincerely interested in 
 the matter. 
 
 Katharine started to her feet. 
 " I'm not quite happy about one of his fore- 
 legs," she began very seriously. "It was rather 
 swelled this morning." 
 
 Ulick Adare got up and crammed his
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX i6i 
 
 manuscript into his pocket and wondered how 
 much of her interest in it had been genuine. 
 This was the real thing, at all events, he thought, 
 fuming to himself. 
 
 " Did he put bandages on him last night ? " 
 asked John Michael. " I wouldn't mind his 
 legs filling a bit after a hard day. He never 
 had a doing like that before." 
 
 " Oh, if I could only have got him over the 
 Kael ! " cried Katharine, effusively. " Your 
 delightful mare simply floated over it like — 
 like a swallow ! That's a brilliantly original 
 simile ! " she added self-consciously, with aside- 
 glance at Ulick Adare. She had an agreeable 
 side-long look, that was both rallying and 
 friendly, but Adare remained blankly unres- 
 ponsive. " I had never ridden a run before. 
 It was quite wonderful ! One crowded 
 hour of glorious life ! " — she rhapsodized, and 
 looked again at the man who could understand 
 her. 
 
 It was the man who did not understand her 
 who replied. 
 
 " It was more than an hour," said John 
 Michael. " I made it an hour and seventeen 
 minutes." 
 
 Ulick Adare met her look for the first 
 time, with eyes so dehberatcly remote as to 
 
 M
 
 i62 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 leave her in no doubt whatever as to his inner 
 satisfaction. 
 
 " 'The little more and how much it is!'" 
 he murmured to the elements. 
 
 Katharine turned her back on him. 
 
 " I wonder if you would be so very kind as 
 to come and look at the foreleg ? " she said to 
 John Michael, with profound deference. " I've 
 no one to give me advice ! " 
 
 She had divined the one possible snare, 
 and it did not fail. 
 
 "Well, I'd like to have a look at him," 
 admitted John Michael, truthfully. 
 
 They walked down the hill by a steep and 
 wandering path. Adare stalked in front, as 
 far, at least, as stalking was consistent with the 
 nature of the ground. He wore an air of com- 
 plete detachment from the party ; he whistled, 
 thinly, a fragment of highly modern music, an 
 errant and perverse motive that the flutes of 
 the Queen's Hall had piped to him and to her 
 not long since, and Katharine recognized it, as 
 it was perhaps intended that she should. She 
 felt again the thick red carpet under her feet, 
 and heard the gentle breathing of Jean Master- 
 man, in furtive slumber, beside her ; she re- 
 membered the cold fog in Langham Place. 
 
 Ulick Adare made a mistake in whistling
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 163 
 
 that tune. She turned to John Michael, follow- 
 ing in her track as silently as the dogs in his, 
 but without their enjoyment. 
 
 '* How delicious the air is here ! And the 
 colour, and the silence ! Don't you wish we 
 were hunting ! " 
 
 " I'm afraid there wouldn't be much of a 
 scent," replied John Michael, with unshaken 
 practicality ; " it was hardly the terriers could 
 acknowledge that weasel above on the hill." 
 
 With which Katharine laughed in frank, if 
 effete, enjoyment. She was in the mood to 
 feel the charm of simplicity, and to think that 
 the Men of Action were worthier in their 
 generation than the Men of Words. 
 
 And after all (to Mrs. Fitz-Symons' sub- 
 sequent exultation), John Michael had to par- 
 take of luncheon with the ladies of Lake View. 
 There was no way out of it for him. He had 
 surveyed Dermot, had given a well-considered 
 opinion on the foreleg under suspicion (to the 
 effect that the horse had boxed it with the 
 other foot), and was spreading his pinions for 
 flight, when the parlourmaid picked her way 
 delicately into the stable with the information 
 that lunch was on the table and that Mrs. 
 Mastcrman hoped they would come in at once. 
 He had neither the nerve nor the ingenuity
 
 i64 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 demanded by such an extremity, and presently 
 found himself seated at the luncheon-table, in 
 awful proximity to the French governess, and 
 confronted with the position of guest-in-chief. 
 
 The position of guest, whether chief or 
 otherwise, was one to which John Michael was 
 entirely unaccustomed, and it cannot be said 
 that he rose to the occasion. Had he desired 
 to show the length and thickness of the black 
 eyelashes so much admired by his mother, he 
 could hardly have kept his eyes more per- 
 sistently upon his plate. He ate everything 
 that was offered to him, bolting all with the 
 speed of one of his own hounds, not because 
 he was greedy, but because he was frightened ; 
 for the same reason he submissively swallowed 
 glasses of claret, a drink which he abhorred, 
 and was wont, in happier moments, to describe 
 as " th' image of ink." 
 
 Mrs. Masterman felt sorry for him ; she was 
 always ready to be sorry for a man, but she 
 said to herself that if Katharine chose to im- 
 port such a being she must take the con- 
 sequences. She was not altogether pleased 
 with Katharine in the matter of the Being, 
 and thought it not inadvisable that she should 
 suffer. Moreover, she had to supervise the 
 stoking of her offspring, and, in common with
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 165 
 
 many mothers, at the Children's Dinner she 
 subordinated her social instincts to those of the 
 female beast of prey, whose single desire it is 
 to give to her young their meat in due season. 
 
 It is perhaps unnecessary to say that Mr. 
 Adare was displeased with Miss Rowan ; he 
 demonstrated the fact, after his kind, by a cool 
 and equable silence, and by a slight unreadiness 
 of attention on those occasions when, mono- 
 logue and catechism having alike exhausted 
 themselves in vain upon John Michael, she 
 turned to him for help. 
 
 He did indeed converse from time to time 
 with Mademoiselle, in her own lanouage, an 
 attention which Katharine felt to be a studied 
 act of ill-breeding. He ate nothing, a fact not 
 lost upon his cousin Jean, as being a recognized 
 signal of displeasure on his part ; his conduct 
 was irreproachable and thoroughly disagreeable. 
 The coffee and the cigarettes did nothing for 
 the situation. John Michael did not smoke ; he 
 was secretly amazed at seeing his much-feared 
 hostess do so. He thought it was only Mrs. 
 Delanty and " the like of her " who did it, " to 
 show off," and he noted with approval that 
 Miss Rowan pushed the box on to him without 
 taking one. 
 
 '* I daren't do anything to damage my
 
 i66 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 nerve!" she apologized. "What! you afraid 
 too ? " 
 
 "I wouldn't like It," said John Michael, 
 uncomfortably, and wondering how much longer 
 this purgatory was going to last. As if in 
 answer to prayer came a muffled and heavy 
 knocking at one of the windows, followed by 
 an apologetic cough, and a bearded countenance 
 presented itself at the glass. 
 
 " Another beggar ! " said Mrs. Masterman, 
 •' that's the third to-day ! " 
 
 Following on the cough came a sound as 
 of some one tearing the ivy from the walls of 
 the house. Mrs. Masterman rose indignantly. 
 
 " Really " she began. 
 
 " That's not a beggar," said John Michael, 
 rising quickly from his place; "that's James 
 Hefferman of Killeenascreena. I think he 
 has a horse with him ; I see the end of a 
 halter in his hand. I believe it's me he's 
 looking for. Maybe I'd better go out to him." 
 
 The door closed behind Mr. Fitz-Symons. 
 
 " Exit Dumb Crambo ! " said Ulick Adare. 
 ** If his conversation were in the same class 
 with his appetite he would be the life and soul 
 of any party ! "
 
 A 
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 S Katharine hurried into a coat and 
 cap in the hall she called out to the 
 dining-room in general that she was 
 going out to see the fun, and added, not with- 
 out defiance, that she supposed they were too 
 lazy to come. 
 
 " Not too lazy," replied the voice of Jean 
 Masterman, "but too entirely sensible to do 
 what bores us." 
 
 Miss Rowan proceeded to the yard, where 
 the first stage of the enquiry into the merits 
 of James Hefferman's marc was already in 
 progress. A small and tattered saddle lay 
 on the ground, and the eyes of John Michael 
 met her's over the mare's withers on which 
 his chin was laid. They were oblivious of 
 her presence. 
 
 " Measure her any way in the world," re- 
 marked the mare's proprietor to the universe, 
 " she's on the brink of sixteen hands, and she'll 
 make the sixteen before she's done." 
 
 167
 
 i68 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 John Michael went on with his examination 
 in silence, and James Hefferman continued his 
 address, taking Katharine as its focal point. 
 
 " I wouldn't be for selling her at all, but 
 I have no place for the likes of her. If a 
 hundred acres was before her it wouldn't be 
 
 enough for her. And as for fences " he 
 
 paused, and again addressed the universe. 
 •' Oh, Christians ! Whatever she could face 
 at she could jump it ! " 
 
 He had a long narrow face, like a sour 
 old dachshund's, with a decent fringe of grey 
 whisker ; his eyes dwelt upon Katharine with 
 melancholy solemnity. 
 
 The mare had a thick, iron-grey fleece, and 
 a long tail with a white end to it, like the tag 
 on a fox's brush. She looked down with a shy 
 and kindly eye at John Michael, who was 
 thoughtfully handling one of her fetlocks. 
 
 " Is she quiet ? " asked Katharine, respect- 
 fully. 
 
 " Is it quiet ? By the gash of war ! you 
 could pull the leg out of her and she'd not 
 mind !" 
 
 " Pick up her foreleg," said John Michael, 
 running a quiet hand over one of the mare's 
 hocks. 
 
 "There's no occasion, Master Johnny.
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 169 
 
 She'll not rise a heel to you. Sure the lads 
 does be pulling hairs out of her tail for their 
 fish-hooks, and she'd not say a word to 
 them." 
 
 Katharine watched John Michael, and 
 yearned exceedingly to know the hundredth 
 part of what he knew about a horse, and 
 wondered incidentally how he contrived to 
 make his shabby home-spun coat look as if 
 it were well cut. Tim, who was by this time 
 deep in the affair, was now engaged in running 
 the mare up and down the yard, to her intense 
 and wholly reasonable surprise. 
 
 " She is a proud grand mare indeed, and 
 carries herself very lovely ! " pronounced her 
 owner. " Throw the saddle on her, Tim. 
 What signifies parading her this way. Get 
 on her back. Master Johnny, and ride her 
 away in the field. When she begins' to gallop 
 you'd lose your senses." 
 
 " Wait awhile till I put our saddle on her, 
 sir," said Tim, eagerly. 
 
 There were two fields near the house, 
 large agreeable fields, and to them Katharine, 
 Tim, and James liefferman presently hurried 
 side by side in the wake of the grey mare. 
 She moved at a placid and springy walk, 
 regarding her surroundings with profound
 
 170 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 interest, but without excitement. It was past 
 three o'clock, and the sun was getting low. 
 The brown hill held purple shadows in its 
 folds ; there was a haze over the fields, and 
 a flush in the western sky that hinted at a 
 coming frost. Dhoosh and Sue, who had 
 borne the tedium of the proceedings in the 
 yard with a frigid composure acquired in many 
 such scenes, strayed away to a briary fence 
 that bordered on the road, and there pursued 
 tepid investigations in ancient trails, much as 
 one might read an old newspaper in a waiting- 
 room. 
 
 The mare and John Michael paced round 
 the field with an equal sobriety. One of the 
 things that Katharine found attractive about 
 John Michael was his seriousness. She ex- 
 plained to herself that he had none of the 
 second-rate desire to be facetious ; in fact, 
 he was not second rate, he was merely pro- 
 vincial, quite a different thing, though Jean 
 Masterman had refused to see the difference 
 where he was concerned. The object of these 
 reflections here drove his heels into the woolly 
 sides of the mare. A long, slouching trot was 
 the response. Another kick, and she flung 
 herself forward into a canter — a big, active 
 canter, clumsy, but enthusiastic.
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 171 
 
 "Ah, ha! That's the way!" shouted her 
 owner as she swept past. " Try her with a 
 lep now ! " It seemed to Katharine that John 
 Michael was doing nothing special, yet the 
 mare at every stride went better and more 
 collectedly ; as she neared the bank at the end 
 of the field her head went up and she pricked 
 her ears. 
 
 James Hefferman caught Katharine by the 
 arm. " Look at her now ! * Forgive any horse 
 that'll cock his ears ! * — that's what the people 
 say. Look at her, look at her ! " 
 
 The mare jumped on to the bank with a 
 will, and, with a flourish of her long tail, was 
 away into the next field. The audience could 
 no longer see her, but they could hear the 
 rhythmic beat of her hoofs and the slaps of 
 John Michael's ash-plant as he set her going to 
 try her wind. 
 
 " I had a lovely colt one time from that 
 one's dam," remarked James Hefferman, "the 
 grandest one ever I bred. Sure I thought the 
 world wasn't good enough for him. And I put 
 him within in the best house I had. Sun, moon, 
 nor stars didn't shine on him, nor the breath of 
 Heaven didn't touch him ; and after all he died 
 on me ! I wouldn't have wished it for twenty 
 pounds."
 
 172 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 "You would not indeed, sir," said Tim, 
 sympathetically. 
 
 "Well, that's the way always," resumed 
 James Hefiferman, in philosophic acceptance of 
 the mysterious decrees of providence. "And 
 look now at this one, that I didn't lave hand 
 nor foot to, only to throw her out on the hill 
 with the bullockeens, she's as healthy as a 
 stone." 
 
 Here the narrative ceased, as the grey face 
 and pricked ears of the neglected one rose into 
 sight above the line of the fence. Up came 
 the clever forefeet, planted one on either side 
 of a stone that lay on the top of the bank ; up 
 came the hind feet with an equal precision, and 
 Katharine's 'prentice heart leaped with her as 
 she leaped out into the field ; and still John 
 Michael seemed to Katharine to be doing 
 nothing beyond sitting lithely on the mare's 
 back. He thundered past, the mare's mane 
 and tail flying gallantly and classically out. His 
 cap had fallen off, and his hair was rough on 
 his forehead. In the lowered rays of the sun 
 his boyish head and light figure were set in a 
 dazzling halo ; the two men watched him with 
 narrowed eyes and wrinkled noses and open 
 mouths, after the singularly hideous manner of 
 their kind. Katharine, with an enthusiasm
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 173 
 
 that she would, not long ago, have been the first 
 to denounce as gush, strung together phrases 
 about Grace and Courage and Speed, while 
 James Hefferman, with an equal enthusiasm 
 and a swifter method, turned to Tim and said 
 ardently — 
 
 " Ye'd say he was sewn to the saddle ! " 
 
 John Michael rode back out of the evening 
 glow and the halo. 
 
 " She's a nice mare," he said, as he slipped 
 off her back. " She gives you a good feel, but 
 she's green still." 
 
 " Well, for as green as she is. Master Johnny," 
 trumpeted James Hefferman, "there isn't a fence 
 on my land but she has it lepped. There's one 
 of my little gerrls is riding her bare-backed 
 every day round the place ! " 
 
 "Will I run for the saddle, Miss?" said 
 Tim, tracking unerringly the processes of 
 thought in Katharine's mind, " and let yourself 
 try her ? She'd carry you to fortune ! " 
 
 John Michael was intently engaged in 
 listening to the mare's breathing. Katharine 
 looked waveringly at Tim. 
 
 " Arrah, why not ! " said James Heffer- 
 man. 
 
 Miss Rowan stole up to her room by the 
 back stairs. This was not a matter in which
 
 174 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 Jean Masterman would sympathize, and dis- 
 cussions were a bore. In five minutes she 
 emerged with a habit skirt on and, by what 
 she felt to be singular ill-fortune, ran right into 
 Ulick Adare in the stable yard. 
 
 " What are you going to do now ? " he said, 
 looking at her attire with much disfavour. 
 
 '* I'm going to try that mare," said Katharine 
 defiantly. 
 
 " You're going to ride that woolly beast ? " 
 he said, with what seemed to her quite un- 
 warrantable indignation. " Why can't Fitz- 
 Symons ride her for himself? Does he want 
 to stick some one with her as a lady's 
 hack ? " 
 
 " I ride her because I choose to do so," 
 said Katharine, magnificently, hobbling away 
 as fast as her safety-skirt would permit. 
 
 " Of course that's an entirely logical reason ! " 
 he retorted. 
 
 " It's good enough for me ! " said Katharine 
 in a blaze, and plunged into the muddy lane 
 that led to the field. 
 
 By the time she had got to the end of the 
 lane she and her wrath were far enough apart 
 for the reflection to intervene that often as she 
 had wrangled with Ulick Adare this was the 
 first time that they had lost their tempers with
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 175 
 
 each other. It was a regrettable incident, but 
 
 he had begun it. 
 
 When she rejoined the party in the field her 
 
 saddle was on the mare. 
 
 " She's a bit strong in the mouth," said John 
 
 Michael, regarding Katharine rather dubiously, 
 
 "but she's as quiet as a sheep. Trot her a bit 
 
 before you canter her. I think it'd be as well 
 
 for you not to try jumping her." 
 
 " Ha ! Ha ! I'll go bail that much wouldn't 
 
 surpass her Ladyship ! " cried James Hefferman. 
 " Hold your tongue, you fool !" said John 
 Michael, in an aside that Katharine did not 
 
 hear. 
 
 The mare accepted the presence of a 
 petticoat upon her back with a placidity that 
 spoke well for her friendship with James 
 Hefferman's daughter. When she trotted, 
 Katharine felt as if she were sitting on the 
 bows of a big boat in a rough sea ; when she 
 cantered, which she did with entire amiability, 
 it felt like riding over a succession of fences. 
 How had John Michael appeared to sit upon 
 her with the swaying ease that implies comfort ? 
 How, also, had he turned and twisted her like 
 a polo-pony ^ Her nose was set for the fence 
 at the end of the field, and it was as much as 
 her present rider could do to turn her from it.
 
 176 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 She did so, however, and continued the circuit 
 of the field, aware by this time that as long as 
 the grey mare wished to canter she would find 
 it necessary to fall in with her wishes. On the 
 left was the briary fence, beyond it the empty 
 road. A large humming sound became audible 
 behind her, the sound of a motor, and 
 Katharine snatched a shorter hold of the 
 clumsy reins. It came on in swift crescendo, 
 and culminated in a fantasia of unearthly music 
 as the motor whizzed past. The mare gave 
 a ponderous swerve, mixed up with a buck, 
 a complicated manceuvre, in the course of 
 which she contrived to cross her forelegs. 
 Katharine felt the rough grey mane in her face, 
 and then the ground seemed to fly up to meet 
 her, and she was aware of some vast, yet 
 remote, shock of impact. 
 
 It was not at all unpleasant. This 
 Katharine explained over and over again in a 
 dark place, where people were talking far away 
 in midget voices, and there was a pulse in the 
 darkness. An epoch of some kind occurred, a 
 long epoch, and the place was less dark. 
 Something under her cheek was harsh and 
 uncomfortable ; it was drab and annoying, 
 with a herring-bone pattern in it, and a watch 
 was ticking loudly quite near. With a great
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 177 
 
 effort she opened her eyes ; something was 
 between her and the sky, something that at 
 first presented itself in the form of spinning 
 concentric circles of azure blue, and black, and 
 orange. It steadied down gradually, and 
 presently became the face of Ulick Adare. 
 Katharine gazed up at it, and said very clearly 
 and slowly — 
 
 " How much the mental consciousness is in 
 advance of the physical ! " 
 
 Then she heard Jean Masterman give a 
 shaky laugh and say — 
 
 " There's the authentic Katharine, any- 
 how I " 
 
 The next thing that struck her was the fact 
 that Ulick Adare was in his shirt-sleeves. 
 
 " Where's your coat ? " she said. 
 
 " Under you. Never mind. Drink this." 
 
 He slid one hand gently under her 
 shoulders and raised her a little. 
 
 Brandy and water out of a kitchen cup is a 
 nauseous beverage, but she swallowed it 
 obediently and felt better. Like a mountain 
 behind her was the consciousness of the un- 
 known something that had taken place. 
 
 '* What has happened to me ? " she said, 
 looking with an effort from one face to another. 
 "Am I hurt ?" 
 
 N
 
 178 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 " No, dearest," said Jean. " I think you're 
 all right. You've had a fall." 
 
 This fact seemed too large for Katharine's 
 apprehension ; she closed her eyes again and 
 felt very tired. 
 
 " Feel her pulse, Johnny," said the practical 
 voice of Mrs. Delanty. " He's half a doctor, 
 you know ! " she added. 
 
 Katharine was aware of two icy fingers and 
 a thumb upon her wrist ; the arm that was still 
 supporting her shoulder stiffened. 
 
 " I'd say the pulse was good," said John 
 Michael, modestly. "She fell on her head. 
 It's just a touch of concussion^ I expect." 
 
 " Let me stand up," said Katharine. " I'm 
 really all right." 
 
 Adare lifted her smoothly and steadily, but 
 she felt as if she were made of lead, 
 
 " I didn't think you were so strong ! " she 
 said to him, with the intention of being polite, 
 while the field and the fences rocked nauseat- 
 ingly ; she leaned against him and saw them 
 all, Mrs. Delanty, Fanshawe, Jean Masterman, 
 John Michael, and, a little way off, James 
 Hefferman and Tim, standing by the grey mare, 
 all of them with their eyes fixed upon her. 
 
 A certain historic " Punch " picture flashed 
 into her mind.
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 179 
 
 " ' And there be t'owd mare, and she be 
 stearin' too, surely ! ' " she said, and laughed 
 feebly. 
 
 " Oh, yoiire all right ! " said Jean, in a 
 jovial voice with a break in it. 
 
 With which Katharine, for no reason that 
 she knew of, laid her head on the thing nearest 
 to her, which happened to be Ulick Adare's 
 shoulder, and there wept.
 
 F 
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 OLLOWING on this came a night and 
 i a day during which Katharine galloped 
 round and round the grass field on the 
 grey mare, always with the same growing stress, 
 always ending with the same blind shock and 
 obliteration, while the four notes of the motor 
 trumpet reiterated themselves in a continuous 
 chant. Headache was in and through the 
 hours, and stiffness, as of all enveloping 
 lumbago. 
 
 " Ah, she had a point or two of tempera- 
 ture," said the dispensary doctor, easily. 
 " That'd keep her a bit fidgety." He added 
 that all she need do was to stay in bed and 
 keep warm, that the frost was the hardest he 
 had seen for ten years, that he wouldn't come 
 again without they'd send for him, he was 
 tiring two horses a day as it was ; and finally, 
 that he thought the young lady had the best of 
 it, in bed in this cruel weather. 
 
 No one in their senses has ever been 
 
 1 80
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX i8i 
 
 deceived by consolations such as these. Bed 
 is in itself a slavery, almost an illness, and 
 those who are walking about in the world, 
 even the chilliest world, are a different and a 
 free race. Katharine stayed in bed with the 
 shutters shut, and Mrs. Masterman conscien- 
 tiously refrained from telling her anything that 
 would interest her. It was through Caroline 
 the housemaid, who had heard it from Tim, 
 that she learned that Mr. Fitz-Symons had 
 bought the grey mare, and Caroline (whose 
 sister, it may be remembered, had driven in 
 chariot-races at Olympia) had added that Tim 
 had said that Mr. Fitz-Symons had knocked 
 five pounds off her price because she had 
 crossed her leers when she fell with Miss 
 Rowan. " That was a set-out. Miss ! " Caroline 
 had ended, summing up the disaster sym- 
 pathetically. 
 
 This instance of John Michael's practicality 
 was not perhaps quite what Katharine could 
 have wished. The ideal hero would have 
 bought the horse at any cost and shot it dead 
 on the spot. The point, however, was, to what 
 extent could John Michael be considered the 
 hero. As she lay there, idle and dreamy, and 
 seeing things a little out of proportion, after 
 the manner of people who lie in bed, she saw
 
 i82 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 him in many aspects, always, like Saint George, 
 on horseback. She saw him galloping down 
 into the frosty sunset ; she saw him in his red 
 coat against the grey sky, on the ridge of the 
 hill, with his hounds about his horse's feet ; 
 she saw him riding at the Kael on the chest- 
 nut mare, and knew what was the quality in 
 him that lifted her over it. She could feel 
 herself charging it on Dermot, and her heart 
 beat harder and harder ; Dermot always jumped 
 it in these visions, and John Michael and she, 
 alone with the hounds, \vent on and on inimi- 
 tably. She arranged with herself during those 
 twilight days that the first and the last word in 
 life was physical courage. It might not be the 
 greatest quality, it was certainly the most 
 attractive, the most desired ; the redeeming 
 quality, with the alchemy in it that turns base 
 metals into gold. For her, at this particular 
 juncture, courage found its best expression in 
 horsemanship, and horsemanship was summed 
 up in John Michael. It meant so much besides 
 courage, she told herself ; sympathy, and 
 determination, and patience, and tact, and all 
 these fused and glowing in the white light of 
 danger. " Noble horsemanship," Shakespeare 
 called it, recognizing in it some fine output of 
 soul.
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 183 
 
 Here the thought of John Michael's horri- 
 fied amazement at finding himself attired in 
 these attributes, felled her and her phrases 
 at a stroke. They would have scandalized his 
 simplicity, she thought, that other great quality 
 that she had discovered in him. 
 
 " Simplicity and Courage ! " she summarized, 
 her head beginning to ache, " as far as mere 
 character goes, what more is wanted ? " 
 
 The last evening of her captivity came, and 
 she was sitting by her bedroom fire when Jean 
 Masterman came up to smoke her after dinner 
 cigarette with the invalid, as was her custom. 
 
 "I hope you ate your snipe, my dear?" 
 she said, sitting down and battering the fire 
 into a blaze. '•' Vile coal this is ! Parkington 
 says that Tim assures her that it is well known 
 that the English fill the coal ships with stones 
 for the Irish market! I really think he's right. 
 Tweetie Pupsy ! Yes ! Here's your coffee ! " 
 
 This to her small and effete red " Pom," 
 who addressed himself with tiny and cat-like 
 lappings to the saucer that she set down for 
 him. " I may tell you," she went on, " that 
 Parkington is in love with Tim ! " 
 
 " Parkington ! ' exclaimed Katharine, " why 
 he can only just read and write, and he's half 
 her age ! "
 
 i84 DAN RUSSEL TME FOX 
 
 " That's part of his attraction, I suppose, 
 and I've no doubt he's far more agreeable than 
 the men of her own class that she meets in 
 England. I shouldn't be in the least surprised 
 if the old idiot ended by marrying him." 
 Mrs. Masterman put her feet on the fender. 
 " You never told me if you liked the snipe. 
 Ulick says the country is over-run with 
 poachers like himself, and he had to walk miles 
 for it." 
 
 Katharine made a suitable acknowledg- 
 ment. 
 
 " William always says Ulick is as pretty a 
 snipe-shot as he's ever seen," remarked Mrs. 
 Masterman, falling into the (lagrant error of 
 praising, where a higher diplomacy would have 
 counselled slight and stimulating disparage- 
 ment. " Woodcock, too, for the matter of 
 that. It does seem a pity that he can't afford 
 to live at his own place." 
 
 "I think he prefers London," said Katha- 
 rine. " He and his friends can sit there in their 
 club, saying brilliant things to each other all 
 day. That's what they really enjoy ! " 
 
 ** My dear, he must live in London, for his 
 work, he would lose touch if ha did not," 
 expostulated Mrs. Masterman. 
 
 *' It's not a man's life," said Katharine,
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 185 
 
 sententiously, " eating late suppers and polishing 
 phrases ! " 
 
 " It's a case of * no song, no supper,' late or 
 otherwise ! " retorted Mr. Adare's cousin, pre- 
 paring a lap for the Pom, who floated into it as 
 lightly as thistledown, " if he didn't polish his 
 phrases he would have to polish empty plates ! 
 And so would his mother. That's how he 
 keeps her and the place going, poor wretch ! 
 And such a nice old place ! And an awful pea- 
 cock there too ! Wasn't there, my little thing- 
 thing ? " she added, confidentially, to the Pom, 
 who looked at her with eyes like wet boot- 
 buttons, and coiled himself for sleep. 
 
 "Jean, please don't drivel to that little 
 brute," said Katharine, with the irritability 
 proper to the convalescent. 
 
 There was a silence. 
 
 " Dumb Crambo came over with his mamma 
 to enquire for you," resumed Mrs. Masterman 
 with dangerous sweetness. " Without mamma 
 he would not again have ventured to put his 
 nose inside the door ! " 
 
 " I don't know who you are talking about," 
 said Miss Rowan, coldly. 
 
 " It was of the nature of a visit of apology," 
 continued Jean, treating the remark with the 
 contempt which it indeed deserved. " Mrs.
 
 i86 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 Fitz-Symons said that if Johnny had thought 
 the dirty motor was within a mule's screech of 
 the place he'd never have let Miss Rowan up 
 on the horse. Johnny, you will be surprised 
 to hear, said nothing, but he wriggled very 
 sympathetically." 
 
 ** I fail to see why any one need apologize 
 in the matter," said Katharine, from the back 
 of her highest horse. *' I think that at my age 
 I might be considered competent to judge for 
 myself." 
 
 " Mrs. Fitz-Symons is not of your opinion, 
 and no more is your friend the Master. Judging 
 by what the Widow Delanty tells me, he seems 
 to have dealt very faithfully with Dumb 
 Crambo in the matter." 
 
 " Don't you think that rather moderate jest 
 has had its day ? " said Katharine, coming out 
 into the open, as her tormentor had desired. 
 " I cannot imagine why you and Mr. Adare 
 take up this position of despising Mr. Fitz- 
 Symons. I call it very bad form. Of course 
 his limitations are obvious, but they are not 
 his fault, and he is incapable of doing or saying 
 
 anything ungentlemanlike. For my part " 
 
 Here Miss Rowan sat erect upon her sofa, " I 
 like him and I respect him ! " Her face 
 burned, and when she picked up a paper with
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 187 
 
 which to screen it from the fire, her hand was 
 shaking. 
 
 Jean looked quickly at her, and then 
 laughed, in her pleasant, leisurely way. 
 
 " Really I am very much to be pitied ! 
 First Parkington, and now you ! But my 
 sympathies are with Parkington ; as far as 
 agreeability goes, my money's on Tim ! " 
 
 Katharine was very angry. 
 
 " If you're going to class me with Parking- 
 ton . . ." she began. 
 
 Jean leaned forward and laid her hand 
 upon Katharine's knee. Her hand was white 
 and capable, and instinct with the maternal 
 quality that was in her. 
 
 " You silly old thing ! " she said, caressingly, 
 " of course, I don't put you in the same class as 
 Parkington ! Parkington's the best cook Pve 
 ever had in my life ! But I must honestly tell 
 you that I think you are taking this poor youth 
 out of his proper place. There was a very 
 admirable precept — Hannah More's, I believe 
 — that was impressed upon me by my grand- 
 mother, ' Never make a friend out of your own 
 class ' ! " 
 
 " I never heard anything so sickeningly early 
 Victorian in my life ! " said Katharine, yielding a 
 little ; it was impossible to her lo fight with Jean.
 
 i88 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 '* It's not fair to the friend either," went 
 on Mrs. Masterman, " in whatever reign he 
 may happen to flourish ; a Heart of Gold is 
 all very well, but the day comes when you feel 
 ashamed of its owner, socially, and that's 
 fatal. It's impossible to argue about these 
 social differences, but there they are, and every- 
 one knows it. He may be defiant about it, 
 which is terrible ; or humble, which is worse. 
 But he never forgets it, and no more do you ! " 
 
 " My dear Jean," said Katharine, patiently, 
 " I respect these venerable truisms, but they're 
 rather beside the point. You make me an 
 Anti-Socialist lecture, merely because I re- 
 sented a rude, stupid, unkind " 
 
 "Not as unkind as you are to poor Dumb 
 Crambo ! " interrupted Jean. " Have you 
 considered that aspect of the affair ? " 
 
 "No, I have 7iot considered it!" said 
 Katharine, starting up from her sofa, " I'm 
 tired, and I won't be lectured any more ! 
 There's no Aspect, and there's no Affair, and 
 if there were, I shouldn't consider them. And 
 as for being unkind to Mr. Fitz-Symons, I can 
 assure you he is the last person in need of 
 your pity ! " 
 
 " Here, sit down and be nice to the puppy, 
 and I'll brush your hair for you," said Jean
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 189 
 
 Masterman, tranquilly. She said to herself 
 that Katharine was one of the very few people 
 who could look handsome when they were 
 angry. She also wished that they had never 
 come to Ireland.
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 IT was the fifth day of the frost. Each 
 morning the sun had risen red through 
 swathes of haze, glittered beautifully, 
 and even warmly, in a blue sky, and hurried 
 back to a more sympathetic side of the world. 
 From its low zenith it looked daily into 
 Dermot's box, and shone briefly upon him, 
 as he stood, double-rugged, in the monumental 
 silence and idleness that horses are capable of 
 supporting without losing their reason. For 
 him short rations had to take the place of daily 
 exercise, as Tim, sitting on the kitchen table, 
 and eating a meringue, observed to Parkington. 
 
 " Unless herself would be in it I wouldn't 
 leave him outside the door. Where'd I be if 
 he broke his knees on me? She'd have my 
 life." 
 
 Dermot, therefore, occupied himself by 
 gnawing the woodwork of his box by day, and 
 by kicking his door, solemnly, in the depths of 
 the night. He received, with a faint surprise, 
 
 190
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 191 
 
 a daily visit from Mr. Adare, who presented 
 him on each occasion with two lumps of sugar, 
 and made the regulation inquiries as to his 
 health and appetite, events, which, as they had 
 not occurred before, he connected, not un- 
 naturally, with the frost. They were occurring 
 for the fifth time when Dermot pricked his 
 ears at the sound of a footstep coming through 
 the frozen yard, a footstep that was not Tim's, 
 being both light and wavering, qualities quite 
 incompatible with the soles of Tim's boots. 
 Ulick Adare pushed the second lump of sugar 
 into Dermot's mouth, and drew a quick breath. 
 Katharine stood for an instant in the doorway, 
 and Dermot raised his head and advanced to 
 the door with a " Ho — ho — ho ! " of recog- 
 nition. 
 
 " Why he knows me, Tim ! " said Katharine, 
 proudly, looking for the first time at the other 
 occupant of the box. " Oh, it's you / " she said 
 with a start, " I never expected to find you 
 here ! " 
 
 Ulick found, to his great discomfort, that 
 he was trembling. He took her hand and 
 shook it as incapably as a schoolboy ; he could 
 think of nothing better to say than a con- 
 ventional inquiry as to how she felt. 
 
 " Oh, quite all right, thanks," said Katharine,
 
 192 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 in her pleasant voice, with a little more ease 
 than she felt, " not worth asking after ! " 
 
 She was rather pale, but her colour rose as 
 she spoke. She did not very clearly remember 
 the afternoon of her accident — a fall on the 
 head is wont to have an obliterating effect upon 
 the memory— but she had not forgotten their 
 passage of arms, and the fact that he had in- 
 explicably lost his temper over a matter that 
 was not only a trifle, but was no affair of his. 
 Katharine had, upon occasion, comfortably 
 quoted the line, " Hell holds no fury like a 
 woman scorned," but she had yet to understand 
 that earth holds no wrath more fervent, and 
 more self-righteous, than that of a young gentle- 
 man who is accustomed to the position of first 
 violin, and suddenly finds himself relegated to 
 that of second fiddle. 
 
 As it turned out, his wrath had been justi- 
 fied, but none the less she meant to be 
 magnanimous. 
 
 " I think I like my own horse better than 
 the grey mare, after all ! " she said, with a 
 laughing and apologetic eye, as Dermot nosed 
 at her hand for what he knew she had brought. 
 Dermot's stable manners were a credit to his 
 late owner ; he invited familiarities with a 
 pleasing mildness, and neither nipped, nor
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 193 
 
 snatched, nor grimaced. Katharine leaned her 
 head against his warm, silky neck, and felt the 
 thrill of proprietorship, and said silly, affectionate 
 things to him. 
 
 Ulick Adare regarded her in silence. He 
 thought there could be nothing more graceful 
 than the droop of her head, more bewildering 
 than the blend of russet and hazy gold in her 
 hair. Her hand too ; he had never seen her 
 caress anything before, and it made his heart 
 hammer and his breath come short. Until a 
 few days ago it had been her company and not 
 herself that he wanted ; some answering quality 
 in her mind and manner, more than any mystery 
 in her grey eyes. Now he could only remem- 
 ber that this was she who had lain helpless in 
 his arms, and had seemed ever since to rest 
 there, whose sealed face of unconsciousness 
 he had stared into, whose eyes had at last 
 opened, and looked up at him without any 
 surprise at finding his so near. She was with 
 him again, and she seemed to have forgotten 
 it all ; had she forgotten that moment of precious 
 nearness, or had she ever even known of it ? 
 
 Katharine noted his silence and glanced at 
 him ; he looked ill, she thought, not like 
 himself 
 
 " You know I have often told you that no one 
 
 o
 
 194 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 ever takes advice," she said, looking away from 
 him ; it was not easy to her to apologize. 
 " People only learn by experience. That's 
 what I have done." The grey eyes steadied 
 and looked straight at him. "I'm afraid I was 
 horribly rude to you " 
 
 Adare came nearer to her and put his hand 
 on the horse's neck beside her's. 
 
 " If I had it to do again," he said in a voice 
 that wavered downwards as if it had been shot 
 in the wing, " I wouldn't let you go. You 
 might be as rude to me as you liked ; it would 
 be better than torture." The last word was 
 almost inaudible. 
 
 Katharine took a step backwards, so sudden 
 was the shock, and so strangely mixed with it 
 the instinct to get away from him. 
 
 "That's putting it rather strongly," she 
 said, red to the roots of her hair, but still trying 
 hard to be commonplace. 
 
 " I thought you were killed," said Adare, in 
 a whisper, and stopped. " I didn't know," he 
 stammered on, " I didn't know, till then, that if 
 you were gone — I mean, it was then that I 
 found out what I'm trying to tell you — and I 
 can't do it " 
 
 He took her hand and pressed it against his 
 heart.
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 195 
 
 " Feel it ! " he said, " it's trying to speak !" 
 
 It spoke indeed ; it was like a prisoner 
 trying to break his way out. Her hand was at 
 his lips ; already he knew it was a shrinking 
 hand, but for that moment it was his. 
 
 Nothing that Katharine had read and 
 nothing that she had thought was any help to 
 her. This was love, of which all the poets, 
 including Ulick Adare himself, had written, and 
 it was not beautiful to her, nor eloquent, nor 
 cor#'ipelling ; worst of all, it failed to enlist her 
 sympathy. It was merely bewildering, and 
 immensely distasteful. It was unthinkable 
 that this was the self-possessed, the entirely 
 competent Ulick Adare, bereft of voice, holding 
 her every-day, commonplace hand with a grip 
 that hurt it. To feel him kiss it, and kiss it 
 many times, made her cringe ; she drew it 
 away. 
 
 " Don't take it from me ! " said Adare. 
 " Can you give me nothing ? " 
 
 " Not that," said Katharine, with difficulty. 
 
 She twisted her fingers in Dermot's mane, 
 and leaned against his warm shoulder to steady 
 herself. 
 
 She was taking it hard, as any one of her 
 quality and perceptivcness would take it. 
 Adare heard her shaken voice telling him to
 
 196 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 say no more, that he must forget that he had 
 said anything, and she would forget it too. 
 She said all that a generous nature, touched to 
 softness, could say. She was dealing helplessly 
 and conventionally with the greatest of miracles, 
 and she shrank from its immensity. She was 
 only a looker-on, moved, and yet unmoved, at 
 the incredible sight of her friend, Ulick Adare, 
 suffering because of her, and showing his 
 suffering, as a man will to a woman.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 THE weather of Southern Munster does 
 not count monotony among its failings. 
 In five days it had arrived at the 
 conclusion that the frost had created its sensa- 
 tion and was now a bore. It broke in the 
 grand manner, and, with the help of its boon 
 companion, the Atlantic, piled up between sun- 
 set and dawn, a storm quite twenty-four hours 
 in advance of the Admiralty warnings. After 
 this there followed a week of wild and wicked 
 weather, when the wind blew from the north- 
 west, and the clouds, black as gunpowder, and 
 charged, as with buck-shot, with hail and fierce 
 rain, boiled up untiringly from some witches' 
 cauldron, back of the hills. 
 
 It was, as it chanced, upon the day of the 
 monthly pig-fair at Cloon, that the sun re- 
 appeared. It shone with convalescent petu- 
 lance upon the absorbed throng of buyers and 
 sellers, frieze-coated men and deep-hooded 
 women, a throng that probably pays less atten- 
 tion to the vagaries of the lieavens than is 
 
 197
 
 198 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 yielded by any people who walk this lower 
 earth. Jerry Jacky Dunnigan, of Corrigilihy 
 Hill, had sold his two fat pigs, and had bought 
 a couple of bonnives to reign in their stead, and 
 had celebrated their purchase in the classic 
 manner. Not for an instant is it insinuated 
 that Jerry Jacky was drunk. He had, accord- 
 ing to the custom of the country, yielded up 
 the balance of the purchase-money to his wife, 
 and she had allowed him a shilling for menus 
 plaisirs, while she cheapened a pair of boots for 
 her daughter, and had what she called " a 
 boxing-match" over "a pair of pants for 
 himself." 
 
 It was during these operations that the 
 elder bonnive made his break for freedom. 
 He and his comrade lay in Jerry Jacky's cart, 
 and regarded the world through the bars of 
 the crate that imprisoned them. The pig-fair 
 was emptying itself over the countryside, and 
 an intermittent procession of similar carts was 
 leaving the town, loud with that vast variety of 
 grunt and shriek with which pigs do not scruple 
 to ventilate their grievances, however transient 
 and fanciful. It may have been some passing 
 cry to Liberty that fired the elder of the two 
 bonnives, or possibly it was the suggestions 
 and allurements of a green field that chanced
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 199 
 
 to be opposite. Be that as it may, he suddenly 
 rose to his feet, and, with unearthly activity, 
 sprang out over the top of the crate and fell 
 headlong into the road. A zig-zag scurry for 
 freedom and the green field followed ; Jerry 
 Jacky was summoned by a friend from his final 
 public-house, and in company with four volun- 
 teers, serious men like himself, in dark blue 
 coats and slouch hats, clambered cumbrously 
 into the field and entered upon the chase with 
 a slow and careful gravity, indicative of the 
 legitimate, pig-fair condition of "having drink 
 taken." 
 
 There ensued in the green field a species 
 of minuet, in which the bonnive, like di premiere 
 danseuse, gave the time and set the measure. 
 Again and again the five dark figures con- 
 verged upon the bonnive, with the mesmeric 
 stealth proper to such operations, and the bon- 
 nive, in perfect understanding of their intention, 
 looked each pursuer in the face, set, as it were, 
 to partners, and with a dazzling pirouette 
 executed a fresh /^j de Jascinatioti, and scuttled 
 to new ground in another corner of the field. 
 In the meantime the five wives, with other 
 interested spectators, made an audience along 
 the wall of the field, and delivered counsel, 
 sarcasm, iind epigram from beneath the deep
 
 200 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 and conventual hoods of their cloaks. Finally 
 the bonnive darted through the legs of his 
 opponents, left them swaying precariously in 
 each others' arms, regained the high-road at a 
 point clear of spectators, and made for the 
 open country. 
 
 It was shortly after this that Mrs. Delanty, 
 riding into Cloon on her bay mare, came into 
 play. She had met the bonnive when it was 
 beginning to weaken a little on the idea of 
 liberty, and having perceived a pursuer afar 
 off, had turned the fugitive aside into a timely 
 farmyard. It was characteristic of Mrs. De- 
 lanty and her way of life that she should un- 
 derstand and act promptly in such an incident, 
 and Jerry Jacky and his wife assured her that 
 they had thanked God when they had seen 
 that it was herself was out on the road before 
 them. It was also in accordance with her 
 habits that she should at once turn the matter 
 to account by making searching enquiries as 
 to the welfare of the fox that was wont to 
 patrol the farm of Jerry Jacky on the high 
 places of Corrigilihy. 
 
 ** He's keeping the hill always," asseverated 
 Jerry Jacky with vast solemnity and a steady- 
 ing hand on the bay mare's neck ; " it's not on 
 my land he'll be intherfared with ! "
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 201 
 
 "It wasn't but two nights past he was 
 barking around the house," interposed Mrs. 
 Jerry Jacky, whose standard of discretion in 
 social matters was higher than her lord's, espe- 
 cially than her lord's when in liquor. *' I 
 hadn't the hens hardly turned out in the morn- 
 ing before he had two o' them snapped ! " 
 
 The interposition availed nothing. 
 
 " Who's interfering with him ? " demanded 
 Mrs. Delanty. " I can tell you there'll be no 
 money for you for hens or anything else if he's 
 interfered with ! " 
 
 Mrs. Jerry Jacky immediately adopted a 
 new formation. 
 
 '• Whoever is intherfaring with him it's not 
 ourselves," she began, declaiming on a high 
 reciting note. " Three ducks and a turkey he 
 took from me last week, and a hen I took out 
 of his mouth last Sunday, and she never laid 
 an egg for me since, and if she didn't itself you 
 couldn't blame her ! '' 
 
 " Well, send in your claim, Mrs. Dunnigan, 
 send in your claim," said Mrs. Delanty ; " but 
 you couldn't ask me to pay for eggs that 
 weren't laid ! Could she now, Jerry .'* But 
 I'll p3iy }'07i a good ten shillings if we find the 
 fox on your land ! " 
 
 " What signifies ten shillings ! " shouted
 
 202 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 Jerry Jacky, in a sudden burst of glory. ** Yee 
 can come on my land, and there'll be a welcome 
 before yee, without any ten shillings ! And 
 I'll have the gaps knocked before yee, and 
 that's what more of them mightn't do for the 
 Hunt!" 
 
 It had already been obvious to Mrs. Delanty 
 that Jerry Jacky was possessed of information 
 that he desired to share with her ; it was also 
 plain that, in accordance with the accepted 
 method, he was determined to throw the lead 
 into her hand. 
 
 ** I heard something about Dunnigan 
 Brieshka buying wire," she said tentatively. 
 
 ** Did they tell ye it was prick-wire ? " said 
 Jerry Jacky, with a blurred eye upon her face. 
 And how he have it rove through the bushes 
 in the gaps ! " 
 
 " That's nice work ! " commented the widow. 
 " And did he tell you why he did that ? " 
 
 " Divil dang the word I spoke to him since 
 Pether an' Paul's day ! " said Jerry Jacky, first 
 cousin and next-door neighbour of Dunnigan 
 Brieshka, once more beginning to shout. " I'll 
 tell ye no lie, Mrs. Delanty, ma'am, he's a 
 consecrated blagyard ! " 
 
 " I don't doubt it," said Mrs. Delanty, " but 
 what has he against the Hunt ? "
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 203 
 
 " What'd the likes of him care for the 
 Hunt ! " bawled Jerry Jacky. " It isn't twelve 
 months since he was in Ameriky washing 
 bottles in a hotel ! " 
 
 Mrs. Jerry Jacky had by this time got 
 herself and the bonnive into the cart, and, 
 seated in amity between her purchases, was 
 looking through the bars of the crate with an 
 expression in which wifely contempt for her 
 husband and well-bred sympathy for Mrs. 
 Delanty were smoothly blended. The bay 
 mare, who had throughout felt offended by the 
 proximity of the bonnives, was beginning to 
 fidget 
 
 " There was a share of grazing land over- 
 right the station, that the Dunnigans had this 
 long while back," began Mrs. Jerry Jacky 
 with an apparent change of the conversation. 
 " Sure there wasn't one in the country wasn't 
 jumping mad for it, in regard for it being so 
 convenient to the thrain " 
 
 "Quiet, mare!" said Mrs. Delanty, as a 
 bonnive thrust through the bars a pink snout, 
 flat and round as a coin. " Brieshka got too 
 cute in America, and I suppose he thought 
 he'd get it for nothing ! " 
 
 " Fitz-Symons was a match for him ! " guf- 
 fawed Jerry Jacky, moving somewhat deviously
 
 204 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 towards his horse's head ; "an' b'lieve you me 
 there isn't a dam one in this counthry, but he's 
 a match for " 
 
 " Yerrah, man, come home out o' this ! " 
 said his wife. "Ye have the lady bothered 
 with your chat ! " 
 
 Mrs. Delanty rode on into the town, con- 
 sidering the matter. 
 
 The aftermath of the pig-fair still wrought 
 in the streets ; the widow rode slowly on her 
 business from shop-door to shop-door, some- 
 times, according to the genial methods of 
 country shopping, pressing a passer-by into 
 her service, sometimes pushing the bay mare 
 upon the pavement and rapping on the window 
 with her cane, in order to attract the attention 
 of the shop assistants. These, albeit pale and 
 harassed by combat with the country women, 
 sprang with undiminished civility to the 
 summons. Mrs. Delanty knew exactly what 
 she wanted, knew in what shop it could be 
 procured, and knew also what she was going 
 to pay for it ; therefore her marketing was 
 accomplished with the least possible friction. 
 Her gladiatorial gift was held in reserve for 
 great occasions, such as a rise in bacon ; her 
 bills were small, and were paid regularly, a 
 method which may command the respect of
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 205 
 
 the country shopkeeper, but lacks the prestige 
 of an outstanding account. 
 
 She was in the act of reproving the butcher 
 for the undue proportion of bone in his last 
 consignment, hastily, because during these 
 complicated processes she had come to the 
 conclusion that she would try to see Johnny 
 Fitz-Symons before she went home, and talk 
 to him about this business at Corrigilihy, 
 when a couple of country women, broad and 
 slow-moving as barges, passed, on a full 
 tide of conversation, between her and the 
 butcher. 
 
 " ' Faith ! ' says Tom Carthy, says he, ' 'twas 
 little but you were dead ! ' says he ! " narrated 
 one of the barges. 
 
 " Glory be to the most high God that He 
 should make such a thing and place it on the 
 earth ! " responded her consort. 
 
 " ' Didn't ye hear the horn, me good 
 woman ?' says the young fella' to me. And 
 sure what horn was in it only the little black 
 ball they screeches with ! ' And if I heard it 
 itself, sir,' says I, ' how would I know it was 
 to me you were screeching?' says I, 'sure I 
 thought it was jollying yourself you were ! ' 
 Well, after all, he gave me half-a-crown, the 
 poor fellow ! "
 
 2o6 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 Mrs. Delanty leaned forward and caught 
 the speaker's eye. 
 
 "Were you saying there was a motor-car 
 in the town, ma'am ? " she asked poHtely. 
 
 " There is in throth, ma'am," responded 
 the narrator, **and it's standing below at the 
 hotel, and plaze God it'll not come our 
 way ! 
 
 " Oh, my mare's not afraid of it ! " said the 
 widow, genially. 
 
 " Why then she's not like ourselves ! " said 
 the country woman with a big laugh. " Faith ! 
 I'd run through a kay-hole from it ! " 
 
 Mrs Delanty turned her mare and rode 
 quickly towards the hotel. This was Fanshawe ; 
 he was, no doubt, on his way to see her, and 
 there was nothing in the house for him to eat. 
 
 She was only just in time. He was al- 
 ready standing by the motor, putting on his 
 gloves, when he caught sight of her. He 
 came to meet her, and his colour rose by 
 several degrees as he took her hand ; a tingle 
 of self-consciousness, and of the pride of 
 possession, brought an answering and emi- 
 nently decorative tinge of carmine to the 
 widow's cheek. 
 
 " You said you were to be out with the 
 X.H. to-day!" she began.
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 207 
 
 "Well I'm not, you see!" he said, 
 
 gazing at her with a large and infantine ad- 
 miration, "I thought I'd rather come and see 
 you instead ! " 
 
 Infantine though Mr. Fanshawe might be, 
 he had acquired sufficient astuteness not to 
 mar the romance of this statement by mention- 
 ing that both his available horses were slightly 
 " crocked," and in need of a day off. 
 
 " If you wanted to see me so much you 
 might have let me know you were coming," 
 returned the widow, arching her eyebrows 
 and putting her neat little chin in the air, the 
 while she thanked heaven that she had headed 
 him off in the town. Whatever befell, he should 
 not set his foot within the doors of her house 
 this day. Were not Janetta and Kate at 
 this moment engaged in " turning-out " the 
 drawing room, happy in the prospect of a 
 dinner of herbs and contentment therewith, 
 after a week of stress in which they had had 
 daily to prepare savoury meats for Mr. 
 Fanshawe ? 
 
 *' And now look at me on my way to the 
 
 Fitz-Symons ! " she went on, pettishly ; " I've 
 
 got to go there on business, about tlie hunting, 
 
 and what am I to do about you ? I can't leave 
 
 a little boy like you playing about the town on
 
 2o8 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 a fair-day ! I hear you got into one scrape 
 already, and it cost you half-a-crown to get out 
 ofit!" 
 
 " By Jove ! " said Fanshawe, goggling at 
 her, more like a devoted baby than ever, 
 " you're a witch ! I say, look here, why 
 shouldn't you lunch with me here at the 
 hotel ? " 
 
 This was precisely the course that had 
 already presented itself to Mrs. Delanty's 
 mind, and after due hesitation she consented 
 to change her plans, formed some thirty 
 seconds before. 
 
 "Well, I dare say Mrs. Fitz-Symons doesn't 
 
 exactly expect me " she said ; which was 
 
 indeed no more than the truth ; " if she hears 
 where I was I'll tell her it's you she must 
 scold." 
 
 She slid off her mare, evading his profFered 
 arms, and followed him into the hotel through 
 a group of pig-jobbers assembled at its door. 
 
 " I want lunch for two, please," said 
 Fanshawe, addressing, as if she were the head- 
 functionary at the Ritz, the pink-cheeked 
 young lady in a white cap who met them in 
 the hall. " What can we have ? " 
 
 The young lady looked at his fur-lined 
 coat with apprehension, and faltered.
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 209 
 
 " The dinner's after going in, sir." 
 
 "Eh?" said Fanshawe," "But I don't 
 want dinner, I want " 
 
 " Wouldn't whatever's ready do us ? " put 
 in Mrs. Delanty, who knew to a nicety the 
 possibihties of Burke's Railway Hotel ; " I'm 
 sure whatever Mrs. Burke's got will be very 
 nice ! 
 
 She advanced into the dining room, feeling 
 pleasurably aware of her own smartness and 
 even rapidity. Her waist was very small, so 
 also were her patent leather boots ; she wore 
 her little air of the condescending smart lady, 
 to the entire admiration of Mr. Fanshawe, if 
 not of Mrs. Burke, who, from a fastness in 
 the inner hall, was viewing the proceedings 
 with understanding. 
 
 The dining-room was almost filled by a 
 long table, at one end of which three pig- 
 jobbers were gobbling roast mutton, and 
 talking, with equal speed. 
 
 " Oh, I say 1 Have you no place but 
 this ? " exclaimed Fanshawe. 
 
 "There's Travellers in the room above, 
 sir, " murmured tlie waiting-maid. 
 
 " Ah, this will do well enough," said Mrs. 
 
 Delanty, still greatly condescending. " Sit 
 
 down now, Basil, and don't be cross. You 
 p
 
 210 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 have all this end of the table to yourself, and 
 isn't that enough for you." 
 
 Fanshawe turned his enamoured eyes upon 
 her. 
 
 "You're keeping your promise," he said 
 in a low voice. " That's awfully nice of you ! " 
 
 " Ah, it was only a half-promise, replied 
 Mrs. Delanty, pulling off her gloves. " I only 
 said I might do it sometimes, if you were 
 good." 
 
 " Then I'm good now, am I ? " said Fan- 
 shawe, seating himself very close to her at the 
 end of the table. 
 
 " Middling," said the widow, pushing her 
 chair an inch or so further away. 
 
 ** 1 don't feel a bit good. 1 thought we 
 could have had a room to ourselves," com- 
 plained Fanshawe. 
 
 " How bad you are ! " responded Mrs. 
 Delanty, who had found by experience that 
 this particular method of handling her young 
 friend was exactly suited to him. It compelled 
 his admiration, and at the same time bewildered 
 him and kept him moving a little beyond his 
 pace. It was also the method in which she 
 had been brought up. What could a large 
 and simple young man from England, with 
 a slow-moving, logical mind, do against one
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 211 
 
 of a family of nineteen buccaneers, whose skill 
 of the tongue had been matured in that in- 
 comparable school of wits, Irish third-rate 
 society ? 
 
 The leg of mutton here appeared, snatched 
 from the table of " the Travellers " upstairs, 
 an uninviting hill of meat, with a gap in it like 
 a railway cutting. 
 
 " Good heavens ! Can you eat this ? " said 
 Fanshawe, regarding with dismay this stalwart 
 substitute for the " little luncheon " that in 
 a vision he had seen his chosen guest partaking 
 of with him. 
 
 " Of course I can ! " returned the chosen 
 guest with gallantry, while she in her turn 
 thought with a pang of Janetta's fresh eggs 
 and well-brewed tea and soda-bread. " Better 
 than you can carve it, I dare say ! Here, for 
 goodness' sake, give me the knife and fork ! 
 I have a regard for Mrs. Burke and her clean 
 tablecloth." 
 
 I'^anshawe watched her respectfully as she 
 dealt deftly with her task. He was like a big 
 hound puppy waiting for his dinner, and the 
 widow, who had walked many a one in her 
 time, told him so. 
 
 "And if you stare at me like that I won't 
 give you a bit," she said.
 
 212 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 " But I can't help staring at you," protested 
 Fanshawe. " I never met any one who could 
 do so many things as you can." 
 
 " Maybe, you never met any one before 
 who had to do them whether she could or 
 no," replied Mrs. Delanty, with an unwonted 
 burst of candour. 
 
 There was something about Fanshawe that 
 she liked, quite apart from the glories of his 
 money, his strangerhood, his Englishness ; 
 something good-natured about him that even 
 Janetta and Kate were aware of. 
 
 The thought of the late Delanty crossed 
 Fanshawe's mind suddenly. He wondered 
 what sort of chap he was, and if he had given 
 his wife a bad time, and whether she had 
 been very sorry for him or not. 
 
 " Look here," he said, translating his sym- 
 pathy into the form most obvious at the 
 moment, " what are we going to drink ? Let's 
 have some champagne. A fellow told me 
 they had some stuff here that was quite 
 decent." 
 
 Mrs. Delanty hesitated. Champagne was 
 
 certainly very smart, and it came her way 
 
 about once in two years. On the other hand, 
 
 there was no one to be impressed by it except 
 
 the pig-jobbers, and she felt sure that it would
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 213 
 
 go to her head in a manner most unbe- 
 coming to her complexion. It might also go 
 to Fanshawe's head, which would be very 
 inconvenient. 
 
 " I never heard such nonsense in my life ! " 
 she said briskly. "Champagne indeed! At 
 this hour of the day ! You may have your 
 whisky-and-soda if you like, and I'll just have 
 a nice little bottle of ginger-beer." 
 
 Mrs. Delanty had been brought up in an 
 atmosphere of severe teetotalism, not because 
 the Scanlan family (of which, it may be re- 
 called, she was the youngest member) held 
 a brief for Temperance, but because any drink 
 more expensive than water was a luxury as 
 undreamed of among them as " late dinner '* 
 or a second servant. 
 
 The meal progressed, and though destitute 
 of the graces proper to such an occasion, yet 
 it had in it something of the confidential quality 
 that makes a " little lunch." Mr. Fanshawe 
 found that he was enjoying himself enormously. 
 He talked at great length about his horses, 
 about his grooms, and how they fought with 
 the " shover " ; he told her of the polo-ponies 
 that he was going to buy, and of how he 
 wished that she would help him to do it, 
 and the widow's soul instantly reviewed all
 
 214 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 the ponies of her acquaintance, and bought 
 them at a price, and sold them at yet another 
 price — a higher price — a much higher price. 
 
 Because all that Fanshawe said breathed 
 unconsciously of money. The elder brother 
 who could "give him grass for his hunters 
 in the park next summer " ; the mother with 
 a house in London, which would be ** handy 
 for Hurlingham" ; the married sister whose 
 husband had a pack of stud-book harriers 
 down in Kent. 
 
 " You know," he said, " this farming 
 game is all rot really. I do it to please my 
 mother. She thinks I ought to have some- 
 thing to do ; but I don't mean sticking to it. 
 My notion is to take a pack of hounds some- 
 where " 
 
 " Where ? " said the widow, quickly. 
 " Or — er — wherever they're jolly well fool 
 enough to take me ! " said Mr. Fanshawe, 
 with a pleasing simplicity. 
 
 ** Oh, if it's fools you're looking for, you'l^ 
 find them wherever you go," said Mrs. Delanty, 
 from the lips out, as it were. 
 
 " He could take them without a subscrip- 
 tion ; they'd be delighted to get him " 
 
 Her thoughts flew and stopped with a jar. 
 What of John Michael ?
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 215 
 
 None the less her brown eyes beamed upon 
 Fanshawe with a soft radiance. 
 
 " You'd look rather nice in a velvet cap, 
 Basil," she said, " in spite of your long 
 nose ! "
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 PORTER, Maggie!" shouted a pig- 
 jobber, with his mouth full, "and 
 hurry like a good girl ! I see the 
 people going down to the train ! " 
 
 He pointed out of the window with his 
 knife, and Mrs. Delanty and Fanshawe, looking 
 through the wire blind, saw an outside-car 
 speeding by, with a man and his luggage upon 
 it, and a bicycle tied across the back. 
 
 "Why, that's Mr. Adare! " said the widow, 
 with some excitement, " I didn't know he was 
 going away." 
 
 " Oh, is he ? " said Fanshawe, who very 
 much preferred the topic of the velvet cap. 
 " All right ; I don't much care." 
 
 " Maybe you don't," said Mrs. Delanty, 
 " but I wonder what Miss Rowan thinks about 
 it ! Many's the walk I saw them taking to- 
 gether ! " 
 
 " Oh, I don't think Miss Rowan had much 
 use for him," said Fanshawe, "he don't hunt, 
 and she's mad keen." 
 
 216
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 217 
 
 "A pity she doesn't know more about it!' 
 said Mrs, Delanty, with a thin smile. 
 
 " She'll jolly soon learn," said Fanshawe, 
 playing like the weaned child upon the cocka- 
 trice' den, " if she keeps on riding in John 
 Michael's pocket in the way she does ! If you 
 ask me, I think hes the fellow she has a fancy 
 for." 
 
 " Well, you see, I'm not asking you," said 
 the cockatrice, with a sudden heightening of 
 colour and an infinitesimal laugh. 
 
 The weaned child was quite unaware of the 
 imminence of her claws. 
 
 Ulick Adare meanwhile pursued his way to 
 the station and took a ticket for Dublin. He 
 had left Lake View, not precipitately, nor with 
 any kind of a jerk ; one of the dark and age- 
 long processes of the Irish Land Commission 
 demanded his presence, and in obedience to its 
 command he was betaking himself to his home 
 in the County Wicklow. He told his cousin 
 that he was coming back again with an as- 
 surance that more than half imposed upon that 
 experienced person. Katharine, as she stood 
 at the door and saw him drive away, knew 
 that he would certainly not return. 
 
 His demeanour throughout had been one of 
 entirely diplomatic correctness ; his farewells
 
 2i8 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 were neither too long nor too short, too warm nor 
 too cold. Katharine went back into the house 
 and remembered, without amusement, a story 
 that he had told her about a painter friend of 
 his, known as the Solicitor-General, who made 
 a practice of proposing to young ladies, from 
 artistic motives, because there was then to be 
 seen an expression on a woman's face that 
 nothing else could evoke. 
 
 " He will find the episode quite instruc- 
 tive," she said to herself in some bitterness of 
 soul. 
 
 " Who sees when thou art seen least wise," 
 says Milton, making, for him, a very unexpected 
 confession when dealing with the eternal ques- 
 tion of Man and Woman. Katharine had seen 
 Adare when he had appeared to her least wise, 
 moved by forces as elemental as those that, 
 deep in a smooth sea, lift the ground-swell to 
 its shattering on the rocks. It was mere blind 
 force to her, but the remembrance of it disturbed 
 and shook her. When she spoke to him there 
 was a weight upon her eyes that made it 
 impossible to meet his. Out of the depths of 
 her own intense reserve she agonized vicariously 
 for the giving away of Ulick Adare. 
 
 That Ulick Adare should apparently need 
 no such attention was not the least disconcerting
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 219 
 
 feature of the position. His social nerve she 
 knew, but now, with mutual remembrance burn- 
 ing between them like a torch, she could not 
 understand how he could be more at his ease 
 than she. He took lar^e walks in the wind 
 and rain ; he withdrew himself for considerable 
 spaces of time and dwelt apart in the important 
 seclusion that is the privilege of men of letters ; 
 he talked as much as usual, even more than 
 usual, Katharine thought, with a metallic quality 
 that was just perceptible to her. It was obvious 
 that he was covering his tracks with all speed. 
 She reflected upon another man who had asked 
 her to marry him, and had less immediately 
 accepted the position. He had married some- 
 one else the following year, so it all came to 
 the same thing in the end, she said to herself, 
 and quoted to herself the line — 
 
 " He will love thee half a year, as a man is able," "■* 
 
 and tried to remember who had written it, and 
 thought she would ask Ulick Adare, and then 
 reflected that that would hardly do. 
 
 The weather, which was still wallowing in 
 the first excesses of the thaw, did nothing to 
 assist the situation. 
 
 " The key-hole piped, the chimney-pot 
 A war-like trumpet blew,"
 
 220 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 and the smoke burst in gusts into the rooms 
 and filled the Pom with unappeasable alarms. 
 The household was thus flung as it were into 
 its own arms, and Mrs. Masterman, aware of 
 tension in the social atmosphere, found herself 
 in conversation taking, like Falstaff, all the 
 points into her target. That Katharine should 
 be absent, tired, and heavy-eyed was very 
 displeasing to her, but she ascribed it to the 
 thrice-accursed affair of the grey mare and John 
 Michael. She wrote letters to her friends of a 
 length that at once assured the more experienced 
 among them that she was very short of occupa- 
 tion ; and to William, in far Rawal-Pindi, to 
 whom she confided that Lake View and every- 
 thing connected with it had been a vast mistake, 
 and that Katharine seemed bent on makingafool 
 of herself, and, only that it suited the children 
 so wonderfully and was so incredibly cheap, she 
 would fly. To all of which William, as is the 
 way of the absent, responded with an account 
 of his last polo-match, and casually added that 
 he was glad to hear that Katharine had taken 
 to hunting, and that as for her buckeen, why 
 shouldn't she amuse herself if she liked. These 
 observations, however, arrived two months later, 
 when their value was not what it once might 
 have been.
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 221 
 
 " Rain or no rain," remarked Mrs. Master- 
 man, looking hard at Katharine on the second 
 evening after the latter's return to ordinary life, 
 " you are not going out hunting for another 
 week if I can prevent you." 
 
 " I shall go as soon as the weather gets 
 better," said Miss Rowan, with almost excessive 
 serenity. She had become aware of a steady 
 under-current of opposition to the hunting, 
 and, through the hunting, to John Michael. 
 
 Ulick Adare made no attempt to support 
 his cousin ; he even mentioned that the glass 
 was rising. It was quite clear that she was to 
 understand that her going out or staying in 
 was a matter of no moment to him. 
 
 " It won't do me the least harm," continued 
 Katharine, with that Hash In the brain that 
 compels people to say foolish things. " Naught's 
 ne'er in danger ! " 
 
 Jean Masterman looked from one to the 
 other, and, determined that there was more 
 in it than met the eye, and, quite unjusti- 
 fiably, thirsted for the blood of John Michael, 
 
 Three days after this Ulick Adare departed, 
 and the somewhat slothful calm that descends 
 upon a household of women in the absence of 
 man fell upon the Lake View establishment, 
 Katharine began again to exercise Dcrmot
 
 222 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 on the roads, and daily came home with a 
 headache, a circumstance which she did not 
 deem it necessary to mention. She was in dis- 
 grace, subtle and unexpressed, and she knew it, 
 as it was intended by Mrs. Masterman that 
 she should know it.
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 THE morning came at length when 
 Katharine sat at breakfast in her 
 habit and felt again that superiority 
 to ordinary Hfe, that magnificent self-engross- 
 ment that is not often achieved by women, but 
 has been from all ages the privilege of the 
 Sportsman. Mingled with it was an uncer- 
 tainty as to how soon and how badly her head 
 was going to ache, and an accompanying cer- 
 tainty that if Jean had even a suspicion of how 
 slack she felt, she would lock the hall door. 
 
 It was a grey and windy morning, with 
 pale gleams of sunlight, and the moist mild- 
 ness of the westerly wind in it ; the roads 
 were buttered with a paste of grey mud, and in 
 the hollows of the fields splashes of water were 
 set like little mirrors for the sky. Dermot had 
 drawn his own conclusions from an early feed, 
 and from the extra pains bestowed upon his 
 toilette, and by sidling and pulling, rampantly, 
 idiotically, and exhaustingly, i)roclaimed his 
 
 223
 
 224 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 knowledge that he was going to see the hounds 
 again. 
 
 At Mrs. Delanty's gateway was Mrs. 
 Delanty herself on her bay mare, skilfully 
 opening and as skilfully closing the neat white 
 gate that her own hands had painted. She 
 greeted Katharine with her grander manner in 
 the ascendant, the manner which with her was 
 generally indicative of a new hat, or a young 
 horse successfully " passed on." Success was 
 in the poise of her head, patronage in the arch 
 of her eyebrows. 
 
 " You're not looking at all the thing," she 
 remarked as they rode on together, " I think 
 you'd have done better to stay at home." Her 
 disapproving eye travelled downwards to 
 Dermot. " That fellow looks as if he was 
 short of work. I'm thinking you'll find him 
 rather too much for you to-day." 
 
 " He's been exercised as much as possible," 
 returned Katharine with humility, taking a 
 shorter hold of Dermot, and descending two 
 pegs in her own estimation, as her preceptress 
 had intended that she should. 
 
 Mrs. Delanty had indeed travelled far from 
 that primary position of Little-Dog-in-waiting 
 to Katharine and Jean Masterman. She had 
 become their; patron, their interpreter to the
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 225 
 
 country, and that the country should have lost 
 no opportunity of extolling to her Katharine's 
 prowess in the hunting field, her own especial 
 domain, coupled with assurances that they had 
 never thought the horse, her horse, had it in 
 him to go lii<e that, was naturally trying to a 
 lady-patroness. 
 
 " I hear Johnny Fitz-Symons is greatly 
 pleased with that grey mare that gave you the 
 toss," she went on. " I declare I never heard 
 of such a mad act as him to let a beginner like 
 you up on her ! If he wanted to try her under 
 a lady, that wasn't the way to go about it, and 
 so all the country's been telling him !" 
 
 It is often the intention to be rude, rather 
 than the form taken by the rudeness, that 
 produces the desired effect. In this case words 
 and intention were fairly well matched, and 
 Katharine retaliated after her kind by remain- 
 ing silent and regarding Dermot's ears, with 
 the annoying rise of colour that is the penalty 
 of a fair complexion. In Mrs. Delanty's class 
 warfare of words is frequent and unimportant, 
 but silence was a weapon with which she was 
 unfamiliar, and it alarmed her. It also awoke 
 an inner and deeper trepidation. " Could it 
 be that she's gone about him ? " she thought, 
 reading the red ensign after her own fashion. 
 
 Q
 
 226 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 " I have Mr. Fanshawe's horse in my stable 
 still," she began, with a change of subject so 
 swift as to indicate a sense of danger. " In- 
 deed I might say that I had his owner there 
 too ! I never know the moment I'll not hear 
 his old coach-horn at the gate ! He says he's 
 taking a veterinary course with me ; I make 
 him work hard for his pass, I can tell you ! " 
 
 " I dare say he finds it very interesting," 
 said Katharine, coldly accepting the proffered 
 topic, not because she was at all placated, but 
 because it saved trouble ; " especially as he 
 doesn't seem to have very much to do." 
 
 " That's exactly what I'm telling him," said 
 the widow, springing back, in the elation of 
 the topic, to the position of confidential friend ; 
 " that farming he's supposed to be learning is 
 all humbug and nonsense. I never saw a 
 gentleman yet that made money out of farming ! 
 No ! But what'd suit him, and what he'd like, 
 would be to have a pack of hounds." 
 
 " But does he know anything about it ? " 
 said Katharine, who had not been specially 
 impressed by Mr. Fanshawe's abilities in any 
 walk of life, " and could he afford it .-*" 
 
 " He'd soon learn if he had the right people 
 to teach him," said the widow, with an air of 
 very special knowledge, " and as for affording
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 227 
 
 it " She relapsed uncontrollably into her 
 
 native grade of the Anglo- Irish dialect (and 
 grades there are many). " Sure he's rolling ! 
 Two thousand a year, my dear ! And more 
 when the mother dies! If he couldn't keep 
 hounds on that down here, it'd be a queer 
 thing ! " 
 
 " Down here ! " repeated Katharine, sud- 
 denly interested, " what country could he hunt 
 here ? " 
 
 Mrs Delanty hesitated elaborately. 
 
 "I wouldn't be surprised " she began, 
 
 approaching, with hushed foot-steps, the sub- 
 ject that was to her the most momentous that 
 life had to offer, " if there was to be changes 
 here ! I hear a good deal — you see — I don't 
 know how it is, but really, people seem to tell 
 me things they mightn't mention to another ! " 
 She paused, and was so engrossed in her sub- 
 ject as to squander upon Katharine one of the 
 glances that she was in the habit of bestowing 
 upon other and more appreciative objects. 
 
 "I'm afraid " she laughed a little, "the 
 
 farmers aren't as fond of poor Gus Fitz-Symons 
 as he thinks they are ! " 
 
 " Do you mean there are political difficul- 
 ties ? " said Katliarine, still with slight severity. 
 
 '• Oh, gracious, no ! " said Mrs. Delanty,
 
 228 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 " this is a different thino- altoofether. He's 
 mixed up in a row about grazing with some of 
 them, and he's lent money to more, and Mr. 
 Gus has ways of his own about getting it 
 back! He has the Dunnigans up against 
 him now, and that's half the country, you 
 might say ! It's a very different story with 
 the farmers now since they've bought the 
 land ; it's hat in hand me friend Gus should be 
 to them." 
 
 " I thought the covert we were to draw to- 
 day was on Dunnigan's land ? " began Katha- 
 rine, "a man with a curious name, Brieshka, I 
 think Tim called him. Does Mr. Fitz-Symons 
 know about it ? " 
 
 Mrs Delanty became rather red. 
 
 " Indeed / don't know what he knows or 
 what he doesn't know," she said with her 
 lightning utterance, and with unexpected heat ; 
 " if he and Brieshka fall out it makes very little 
 difference to me ! I've had enough of patching 
 up Gus Fitz-Symons' quarrels for him and 
 getting no thanks for it ! " 
 
 Katharine remained silent. The distaste 
 of the Clan Dunnigan for Mr. Fitz-Symons 
 was not difficult to understand, but she was not 
 going to say so to Mrs. Delanty. She also 
 thought that that lady's attitude towards her
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 229 
 
 friend was quite what might have been 
 expected. 
 
 " Of course Gus in an old friend of mine," 
 went on the widow, perhaps divining disap- 
 proval, " but I must say I never liked him 
 very much." 
 
 Katharine laughed, in spite of her extreme 
 desire not to do so. 
 
 " Oh, thank you ! " she said, " I've so often 
 felt that, but I've never been able to express 
 it!" 
 
 The widow stared in mystification, and, as 
 she disliked being mystified, she said with 
 some asperity that it was getting late and they 
 had better trot on. 
 
 Up at the Pike Cross where the hounds 
 were waiting, there was a fierce wind blowing. 
 The horses, standing with their backs to it, 
 had their tails parted down the middle by the 
 blast ; the hounds, established under the lee of 
 the fence, sat in a sapient row, and licked the 
 mud off each other's faces; the riders sat with 
 hunched shoulders, and, each in the order of his 
 arrival, grumbled to his neighbour that it was 
 outrageous to wait for people, and iiounds 
 ought to stick to the published hour. IMr. 
 Fitz-Symons on his brown horse, loomed large 
 against the cloudy sky, and returned the
 
 230 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 salutations of his Field with majestic and 
 bilious gloom ; it was the general opinion that 
 old Gus had got out of bed on the wrong side. 
 John Michael and Tom Coyne had been aware 
 of this misadventure from the moment of its 
 occurrence, and were now awaiting the events 
 of the day with a resignation born of the 
 knowledge that whatever fate might bring 
 forth, they would be in the wrong. 
 
 The master advanced to meet Katharine, 
 and made her his felicitations on her reappear- 
 ance ; he informed her with empressement that 
 he had waited for her, always a two-edged 
 kind of compliment, and one entirely 'typical of 
 him. He further told her, with a sour glance 
 of his muddy brown eye at John Michael, that 
 he had told his brother what he thought of his 
 conduct ; he shouted it against the wind, in 
 order that his views should be thoroughly 
 ventilated, and the widow giggled audibly in 
 the background. 
 
 There are moments when the flame of 
 wrath is quite disproportioned to the match 
 that has lighted it. Katharine's head went up 
 and her back stiffened ; without a word she 
 rode up to John Michael, and greeted him 
 with such a warmth and such a kindling light 
 in her grey eyes as scared him to the marrow
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 231 
 
 of his bones. She inquired ardently after the 
 health of the grey mare ; she declared that she 
 was longing to ride her again, and, like the 
 Master, she took care to speak in so loud a 
 voice that those around should be in no doubt 
 as to her sentiments. In short, she overdid 
 it thoroughly, and gloried in it. 
 
 John Michael fidgeted in his saddle and 
 gathered up his reins. 
 
 *' I have Tom Coyne out on the grey mare," 
 he said hurriedly, with his eye fixed on his 
 elder brother, " she's doing grand. I think 
 he's moving on now — War' horse there, Blue- 
 maid! Cup, hounds !" 
 
 They went on up the old coach road, broad 
 and wind-swept, and turned at an acute angle 
 into a farm lane. There was a long pond that 
 lay in shelter at the corner, and Katharine, 
 from her place in the string of riders, saw the 
 red coats and the patches of white that told of 
 the moving pack, reflected brokenly in it. The 
 dead fronds of the Osmunda fern were rellccted 
 too, in restless confusion of yellow and brown ; 
 some of the hounds splashed through the reeds 
 at the margin, and sent a coot skimming away 
 down a flashing, splashing path, and scared a 
 tall heron into wide-winged creaking flight. 
 Tom Coyne, on the grey mare (transformed
 
 232 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 out of recognition by desperate doings with the 
 mane comb and the clipping-machine), cracked 
 his whip and shouted at the straying hounds ; 
 John Michael blew a long note on his horn to 
 warn late comers that they were moving on, 
 turning half round in his saddle to count his 
 field. 
 
 " The huntsman loosens on the moon, 
 A gay and wandering cry," 
 
 thought Katharine. " How can any one say 
 that sport has no place in art ! " 
 
 "Anyone" was Ulick Adare, who might 
 or might not be pleased at being thus remem- 
 bered. Her eyes were dim, the pulses of her 
 head throbbed. She was over-strung, and the 
 beauty of the world and the excitement of 
 living in it were almost more than she could 
 bear. 
 
 The Hunt paced along the lane, two and 
 two, between the high banks ; advancing like 
 a motley troop of cavalry, towards the oak- 
 wood on Corrigilihy Hill, where lay their 
 adversary, alone and self-sufficing, prepared 
 at any instant to pit his solitary resource and 
 daring against theirs. They halted in a narrow 
 valley between low hills, covered with yellow 
 and grey oak scrub ; they were in shelter at 
 last, and the men lit cigarettes, and the horses
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 ■00 
 
 plucked at the grass on the bank above them, as 
 if they had not had anything to eat for a week. 
 There were not more than a couple of dozen 
 out, and Mr. Fanshawe's and Mrs. Delanty's 
 were the only voices that had not been subdued 
 by the aspect of the Master. Mr. Fitz-Symons 
 had notably the gift of inflicting his ill humour 
 on all in his vicinity ; sheer magnitude of sulk, 
 and the indifference of Juggernaut as to con- 
 sequences, creating an effect that was artistically 
 complete. 
 
 A hound said something in the thick covert 
 on one side of them, a note of conjecture and 
 uncertainty, but the horses pricked their ears 
 and looked up, with disreputable wisps of grass 
 and b'ts of twig hanging from their mouths. 
 There was silence for a moment, except for a 
 steady rustling and bustling in the stiff under- 
 growth. Then, a hundred yards away, the 
 same hound spoke again, and others joined 
 him. 
 
 " That's like it ! " said some one near 
 Katharine in a low voice. 
 
 There was a strip of sward below the lane, 
 between it and the trees, and it was precisely 
 there that to Miss Rowan was vouchsafed her 
 first view of that good-looking gentleman of 
 many aliases, Dan Russel the Fox. He came
 
 234 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 out of the yellow and grey scrub as impercep- 
 tibly as a drifting leaf, sighted his enemies of 
 the second degree, and withdrew as delicately 
 and discreetly as he had come, a soldier of 
 fortune, perfectly acquainted with his danger, 
 and meeting it without a touch of panic. The 
 covert again swallowed the chief player in the 
 tense and intricate game of wood-craft, and 
 the Master started at a clattering gallop up the 
 lane, presumably to look for his huntsman. 
 
 " It's no good staying here," said the man 
 who had spoken before, " now they've got a 
 move on that lad he'll go on." 
 
 " Listen ! " said some one else. " They're 
 at him again ahead there ! Isn't that the 
 horn ? " 
 
 They pressed on, a disorderly mob, in the 
 direction taken by the Master, Mrs. Delanty 
 and Fanshawe in front, the widow with her 
 inimitable air of knowing exactly what was 
 happening and where she was going, Katharine 
 close behind them, with every faculty concen- 
 trated on finding the hounds and the huntsman, 
 and cleaving to them and to them only. 
 
 Hapless Huntsmen ! Few but they can 
 know what it is to be the star to every wander- 
 ing barque, the pilot to every emulous 
 beginner ; stars entirely preoccupied with
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 235 
 
 illuminating their own concerns, pilots only 
 anxious to steer a course as remote as possible 
 from their adherents ! 
 
 The lane, such as it was, presently faded 
 away in an open space, where the grass ran 
 in and out among outcrops of grey rock that 
 looked like the backs of half-buried elephants ; 
 gathered on one of these was a family of goats, 
 whose yellow eyes, filled with grave indigna- 
 tion, spoke of recent shock. Further on, a 
 couple of cows, gaunt and long-horned, of the 
 old Irish breed of brindled black and red and 
 white, were staring over a barricade of branches 
 and brushwood. 
 
 " That's the way John Michael's gone," 
 said Mr. Clery, pulling up and regarding the 
 barrier with respect. 
 
 Hoof-marks led up to it and reappeared on 
 its further side ; other hoof-marks led to it 
 and turned away to the right. 
 
 " I've seen a good horse staked in a better 
 place, and I happen to know the people here 
 have no fancy for having their fences 
 destroyed," said Mrs. Delanty, also turning 
 away to the right. " Keep your eyes open for 
 barbed wire, all of you ! There's no use going 
 there, there's a good way further down on 
 Jerry Jacky's land ! "
 
 236 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 " Begad, you're right I " said Mr. Clery, 
 who was not in the least ashamed of having 
 common-sense. " They're not running, anyway, 
 and that's an unnatural ugly sort of a place ! " 
 
 Mr. Clery 's opinion was one that might be 
 creditably accepted by any one, but Jimmy 
 Doyle did not follow his lead, and Katharine, 
 making one of the myriad small decisions that 
 seem trivial, but are, in hunting, momentous, 
 elected to follow Jimmy Doyle. 
 
 " I think there isn't much time to lose," he 
 said, sliding off the black mare, and dragging 
 a sort of Christmas tree from the barricade. 
 ** But there's no sense in being a fool ! Be 
 Jingo! but Mrs. Delanty's no fool either I 
 Look at that ! " 
 
 Two strands of barbed wire strung across 
 the gap were revealed as he pulled the branches 
 away. 
 
 " That's a nice little cat's cradle for you ! 
 I wonder has Brieshka many more of the same 
 sort before us 1" He was already tearing out 
 of the barricade the post to which the wire 
 was attached. "There, that'll do now," he 
 said, flinging it on one side. " It's well for 
 Johnny Lottery's a big-jumped mare I We'll 
 be minding ourselves now till we're out o* this, 
 I can tell you ! "
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 237 
 
 Brieshka's Christmas tree was replaced, 
 and, in the silence and solitude that presently 
 followed, was minutely examined by the cattle, 
 with the inexhaustible inquisitiveness of their 
 race. The barbed wire now decorated the 
 boughs of a tree ; the brindled cows saw it 
 there, but none the less, though good fencers 
 in an ordinary way, they respected the 
 barricade. 
 
 " I say, Lily I " said Fanshawe, as he 
 followed the widow with calf-like fidelity 
 through a slit in a furzy bank and along the 
 headland of a tiny patch of turnips — Mrs. 
 Delanty was always careful about crops — " I 
 hope we're all right." 
 
 '• I told you before I wouldn't have you 
 calling me that in public, or anywhere else I " 
 replied Mrs. Delanty, casting a look at him over 
 her shoulder that made him ride up beside her 
 and say ditheringly — 
 
 " You darling !" 
 
 " I suppose you think that's an improve- 
 ment I I won't let you come hunting with me 
 again if you can't behave yourself ! " retorted 
 the lady of his affections, while selecting with 
 an unerring eye her gap in the coming fence. 
 " And look at you now ! Destroying Brieshka's 
 turnips, as if he wasn't cross enough already ! "
 
 238 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 Following upon her words came the sound 
 of voices in altercation, loud, and infuriated, 
 one of the ugliest sounds in the realm of 
 nature. 
 
 " Oh, my goodness ! That's Gus I There's 
 
 a row I" cried Mrs. Delanty in a breath, her 
 dark eyes lighting in the irrepressible Irish 
 love of a shindy; she dealt the bay mare an 
 awakening whack, and hurried like a street 
 boy to the core of the situation. 
 
 In the next field a group of battered trees, 
 their topmost branches blotted with the nests 
 of a colony of rooks, strained stiffly in the 
 wind ; beside them was a two-story cottage, 
 new and hideous, a bare grey box, with an 
 eaveless slate roof, and four windows, hard and 
 staring as unsympathetic eyes ; the dreary, 
 utilitarian substitute for the long, low cabin, 
 with the uncertain angles, and the kindly, 
 motherly thatch, and the little, friendly winking 
 squares of glass peering out from under it. In 
 the gateway of the yard was a man with a 
 pasty and freckled face, and dull red hair 
 that twisted in corkscrew curls about his fore- 
 head. Added to these attractions were eyes of 
 the colour of ripe white currants, lit at this 
 moment by the flare of fury. Facing him was 
 the Master on his horse ; they were baying in
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 239 
 
 each other's faces like dogs. The red-haired 
 man was shouting in a voice that had the crack 
 of rage in it, and the American twang running 
 through it, like the barbed wire through the 
 branches. He shouted over and over again 
 that no Fitz-Symons should ever cross his 
 land. The Morse alphabet of dots and dashes 
 alone could adequately render Mr. Fitz- 
 Symons' response. Two colts who, like the 
 Master, were anxious to get through the gate, 
 were flourishing round his horse, neighing, 
 squealing, and kicking. The big west wind 
 rushed through all, deafening, buffeting, in- 
 tensifying, as is its wont, the output of temper. 
 
 " Come back I " said the widow to Fan- 
 shawe. " He'll get no good of those people — 
 don't let you mix yourself up in it ! They can 
 have us all up for trespass if they like — look 
 at the mother coming out now ! " 
 
 Mrs. Dunnigan, senior, was indeed taking 
 the field. She advanced from the door of the 
 house with her arms extended, and her brown 
 shawl hanging from them like outspread wings ; 
 a cap-frill, and an encircling red "shawleen," 
 framed her fervent countenance. She thrust 
 herself in front of her son, and in a scream that 
 topped the wind she launched the catalogue of 
 her own wrongs. Hens were in it, trespass
 
 240 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 was in it, and above all, the Gogginses were 
 in it. 
 
 (" They're the earth-stoppers," explained 
 the widow, in the background.) 
 
 The Gogginses were, it appeared, the 
 biggest brats that ever Ireland rared, the 
 dirtiest thieves that ever God framed. Her 
 native sense of rhythm lent balance and swing 
 to the saga. She said that the marks of their 
 legs were down on her little potato-garden ; 
 that whether she'd go aisht the road, or wesht 
 the road, theirselves would be watching her, as 
 black as any dog, and that it wasn't but last 
 Sunday she melted them under her teeth with 
 cursing. She passed, by a simple modulation, 
 from the Goggins family to their employer. 
 The scream took a higher note to match the 
 greatness of the theme. She extended her 
 arms and swept them downwards to the ground, 
 in illustration of the fact that she cursed Mr. 
 Fitz-Symons from head to foot. She told him 
 that the like of him never swep' the country 
 before, and that there wouldn't be a good word, 
 or a good wish, or a good prayer after him — 
 here the colts, making a determined rush to get 
 past the Master, jostled against him and his 
 horse, and he turned and brought his crop 
 heavily down on the woolly back of the nearest 
 
 I
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 241 
 
 colt. The colt flinched under the blow, darted 
 forward through the gateway, followed by his 
 comrade, knocked Mrs. Dunnigan into her 
 son's arms, and both into the gatepost, and fled 
 away round the house. 
 
 In a second Brieshka had the Master's 
 brown horse by the head, and was kicking him 
 in the chest, and the Master's whip was again 
 in the air. That it failed to descend upon 
 Brieshka was due to the exertions of the brown 
 horse in the cause of peace. He shook him 
 off with a rear and a plunge, pivoted on his 
 massive hind-legs, and blundered in among the 
 horses of the lookers-on. It was during the 
 plunge that Mr. Fitz-Symons began to fall off; 
 the process continued during the pivoting. 
 The members of the hunt watched, as men 
 watch a land-slide, powerless and appalled, 
 while the Master lay upon the neck of the 
 brown horse, clasped it in vain, and, with 
 gathering impetus, progressed down his shoulder 
 to the mud. Immediately old Clery and the 
 other men closed round Mr. Fitz-Symons ; the. 
 brown horse, still with outrage in his eye, 
 recovered his self-control, and the Master, with 
 his cap over one eye and his thong wound 
 round his neck, clambered back into his saddle. 
 
 " You're witnesses, every one of you ! " he
 
 242 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 bellowed, with what breath was left in him, 
 "He assaulted me! He'll be in jail for this! 
 I'll go home and take out a summons this 
 
 minute! I'll take the hounds home " He 
 
 tore the horn from his saddle and tried to blow 
 it, but had only wind enough to produce a 
 cracked and disastrous bleat. He turned his 
 horse and galloped out of the field by the way 
 he had come, while the valedictions of the 
 Dunnigans rained upon his retreat with the 
 blended lavishness and precision of a machine- 
 gun.
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 IN the mean time, the first cause of these 
 disturbances, that leader of society, and 
 moving spirit in its feuds and friend- 
 ships, Dan Russel the Fox had slipped from 
 one patch of covert to another, running- up 
 wind before the patient advance of John 
 Michael and his hounds, until he had crossed 
 the last of the little ridges and valleys into 
 which the tail of Corrigilihy is shredded ; once 
 he met with a little boy, minding sheep, who 
 threw a stone at him, and vaunted himself of 
 the feat to John Michael ; once he met a lady 
 of his own race, who put him a part of his way 
 before she ran back into the wood (and three 
 and a half couple of hounds turned back with 
 her). And once he paused near the back door 
 of a cabin, and — John Michael being half-a-mile 
 away, interviewing the little boy — considered 
 the question of meeting his teeth round the 
 neck of a white duck, and retiring with lier 
 to a certain drain in the vicinity. This, 
 
 243
 
 244 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 however, was Interfered with by the owner of 
 the duck, who flung a sod of turf at him. (And 
 she, too, was subsequently a help to John 
 Michael.) At about this point a note of the 
 horn travelled to him, thanks to the fact that 
 he had manoeuvred himself into the position 
 of being down-wind with relation to his pur- 
 suers, and being a philosopher, he accepted 
 the position and laid himself out to go. 
 
 The narrative presented to John Michael 
 by the woman who owned the duck was as 
 brilliant and as irrelevantly decorated as the 
 page of a missal. He heard it with the patience 
 that experience had taught him, and having 
 sifted from it the fact that she had last seen 
 the villyan going east past the school, he gave 
 her one of his few shillings, and she screamed 
 " God speed ye ! " as he lifted the feathering 
 hounds, and galloped with them to the school- 
 house. 
 
 Yet at the schoolhouse they hung, puzzled, 
 as if the wild wind had whirled the scent 
 away with it. The children, out for their 
 play hour, decked the walls of the school-yard 
 as vividly as flowers, red and black and golden 
 heads, scarlet cheeks and bright eyes and bare 
 pink legs and arms ; they squealed and gabbled 
 and hissed in sibilant chattering, as only Irish
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 245 
 
 National school-children can. But they had 
 nothing to tell John Michael about the fox. 
 
 It was here that Jimmy Doyle and 
 Katharine, travelling express via the little 
 boy and the owner of the duck, got on to the 
 main line, and at the same time Tom Coyne 
 was developed out of space in the act of 
 towing the grey mare over a fence whose 
 complex problems might have given pause to 
 a rabbit. 
 
 "Master Johnny!" he called, "there's 
 three and a half couple gone back into the 
 wood with another fox, and I'm told there's 
 been the divil's work with Brieshka, and the 
 Master sent a message to me to tell you you're 
 to bring the hounds home the quickest way 
 you can ! " 
 
 John Michael faced his mare about quickly. 
 " What's that you say ? " 
 
 Tom Coyne repeated his message with all 
 the glory of his kind in " bloody news." 
 Katharine with wisps of fair hair blowing into 
 her eyes, and her crop shoved under her 
 right knee as she endeavoured to deal with 
 her coiffure, turned upon Jimmy Doyle a 
 countenance that had the blaze of the wind 
 and the gallop in it. 
 
 " If I were he I shouldn't go ! "
 
 246 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 Jimmy Doyle grinned. 
 
 ** Maybe he won't either ! " 
 
 John Michael, at home, was all that a 
 subservient younger brother could be, but John 
 Michael with a fox in front of him was as 
 capable as Nelson of putting the telescope to 
 his blind eye. 
 
 " I can't stop them now," he said shortly, 
 standing in his stirrups to look over the bank 
 by the road side. " They have it right this 
 time I Come up ! mare ! " 
 
 The hounds were indeed away again, and 
 Tom Coyne, with a comfortable smile, said to 
 himself, *' Well, I done my part anyway ! " as 
 he pushed the grey mare after the chestnut 
 one, and shook her up to gallop her best 
 after the pack, now sliding as smoothly over 
 the grass as a cloud shadow. 
 
 Once more for Katharine was the dream 
 and the delirium ; the brown heather and the 
 green fields, the lounging, sprawling banks, 
 no two of them alike, the truculent, challenging 
 walls, all were merged into a rushing stream ; 
 every jump was a flash of triumph, every fair 
 space of grass a sailing glory. It seemed the 
 easiest thing in the world, and the finest, to 
 ride in John Michael's wake, to catch his eye 
 as he looked back to see if she were safely
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 247 
 
 over, to feel that he and she and the hounds 
 had but one heart amone them. 
 
 The slopes of Corrigilihy were far behind 
 them now, and the schoolhouse was no more 
 than a white dot in the past, when the hounds 
 checked for the first time at a road, a long 
 empty stretch of dun-coloured road, that 
 wandered between bogs and low hills, and 
 served no apparent purpose of agriculture or 
 civilization. There ensued a delay, unaccount- 
 able, mysterious. The eager hounds spread 
 themselves with every appearance of conviction 
 over a chocolate-coloured expanse of peat- 
 mould, with deep pools in it, and spikes of 
 bog-wood standing up out of the black, wind- 
 ridged water, and long turf-cuttings grooved 
 with the marks of the "slan." Up from it 
 came the aromatic, complex bog smell ; sea- 
 gulls, driven inland by the weather, swirled 
 and screamed above the hounds. 
 
 " We're done with the good country now," 
 said John Michael to Katharine, with an un- 
 precedented burst of confidence. " They ran 
 him nicely when they got on terms with him, 
 back at the school, didn't they ? " 
 
 Katharine, overwhelmed by the surprise of 
 a personal appeal, replied with di/cu-de-joie oH\\q. 
 most impassioned superlatives at her command.
 
 248 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 " There isn't a little pack in Ireland that'll 
 hunt better than what they do when they get 
 their chance," went on John Michael, with the 
 light in his eyes that only hunting brought to 
 them. " They took him out of the wood in a 
 hurry ! I'm glad you didn't miss it." 
 
 John Michael was decidedly uplifted by his 
 gallop. He met Katharine's reverent eyes 
 unflinchingly, and was moved to yet further 
 commendation. 
 
 " I never saw a lady to go as well, and you 
 on a green horse too ! " 
 
 " I should have been nowhere if Mr. Doyle 
 hadn't shown me the way out of the wood," said 
 Katharine ; approval from John Michael was 
 a gift so large that she could not accept it all. 
 
 " The rest o' them didn't catch us yet ; " 
 said Tom Coyne, casting a jubilant eye back 
 over the empty country through which they 
 had come ; " and it'd be hard for them ! As 
 for this mare, she's running away with me ! " 
 
 This may or may not have been intended 
 to mask the fact that the grey mare was puffing 
 considerably, and was black with sweat where 
 she was not white with foam. 
 
 " Them hounds are doing no good below 
 there, sir ; will I whip them out of it ? " 
 
 " You will not," said John Michael.
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 249 
 
 There were three of Mr. Fitz-Symons' 
 hounds whose word was law, and these were 
 Reckless, not as young as she had been, 
 Admiral, tall and grey-muzzled, and the in- 
 comparable Rachel, whose least hint, it is little 
 to say, was more revered of John Michael 
 than all the wisdom of tlie ancients. Rachel 
 it was who made a great hunt out of what 
 had been a smart gallop, but had not Reckless 
 and Admiral put their noses down to that one 
 faint whiff that she had detected some thirty 
 yards up the road, and snuffed long and 
 thoughtfully over it, with ears hanging over 
 their eyes, Rachel might not have considered 
 it worth while to pursue the matter further. 
 Slowly, almost pensively, she strayed onwards. 
 A bare out-crop of rock kept her for quite a 
 minute, and Admiral and Reckless joined her 
 
 agam. 
 
 " I may be mistaken," she said dubiously, 
 with rigid stern, snuffing like a vacuum 
 cleaner. 
 
 " No, you're not ! " said Reckless, giving a 
 small, thin squeal that the wind blew away, 
 unheard save by Admiral. 
 
 He came up, stood motionless for a moment 
 on his four bed-post legs, and put his grey nose 
 down ; then raised his shabby, handsome, old
 
 250 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 head, and uttered a single commanding bass 
 note, which, being interpreted, meant — 
 
 " Pipe away, all hands ! " 
 
 "There you are now," said Jimmy Doyle, 
 in a voice sad with the whole of pleasure, 
 •' that's the hunt." 
 
 " It was the road he ran after all," assented 
 John Michael. 
 
 In what fashion, however, he ran the road 
 was one of the mysteries of scent. Judging by 
 the procedure of the hounds one would have 
 said that they were following the leaps of a 
 kangaroo, so completely did the scent fail here, 
 so entirely sufficing was it there. For about 
 half a mile the road yielded an intermittent 
 inspiration, while the wind blew sweet and 
 strong across the wide bogs, and the hurry- 
 ing sky broke up into companies of clouds, 
 and a sun like a silver ball slid among 
 them. 
 
 *' This check's just what the horses wanted," 
 Jimmy Doyle said to Katharine, as he and she, 
 their brotherly love still continuing, moved 
 side by side at John Michael's heels, and the 
 black mare, in sourness restored by leisure, 
 made faces at Dermot like an angry cat. 
 
 " I suppose the rest of them's belting round 
 the wood with that three and a half couple,"
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 251 
 
 proceeded Jimmy, sociably; "that's unless 
 they went home with old Gus ; Tom Coyne's 
 after telling me that of all the rows Gus ever 
 had, and he's had plenty, this flogs the lot ! " 
 He squeezed the black mare up beside Der- 
 mot, and looked sideways at Katharine from 
 under the flat brim of his pot hat. ** I wouldn't 
 be surprised to hear he chucked, and I don't 
 blame him in a way. He knows well that 
 what all the country's saying is that he " — he 
 jerked his head at John Michael — "he's the 
 Master, and Gus is the pay-master !" 
 
 " It works very well," said Katharine, the 
 wind whistling in her teeth. 
 
 "Well, y know," returned Mr. Doyle, "it's 
 poor fun paying the piper when you've a 
 wooden leg." 
 
 " Every bit of him is made of wood ! " said 
 Katharine, scornfully. 
 
 " It is. And rotten wood too," agreed 
 Jimmy Doyle. 
 
 This seemed to dispose of Mr. Fitz-Symons, 
 but the interest of the topic was for Katharine 
 and her boon companion practically illimitable. 
 Those of Katharine's friends who were wont to 
 accuse her of excessive and wilful fastidious- 
 ness, would have been entertained at beholding 
 her, wind-ruffled, flushed, and voUiblc, riding
 
 252 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 along a bog-road with two buckeens of low 
 degree, deeply immersed in the affairs of a 
 cultureless, not to say barbarous, community, 
 quite oblivious of her own axiom that hunting 
 need not be confused with hunting people. 
 
 John Michael held up his hand ; the hounds, 
 after a final hesitation on the road, scrambled 
 over a stone gap, bringing it rattling after 
 them, and began to bustle ahead at a pace 
 that looked like business at last. The ground 
 rose towards a long ridge of hill, with some- 
 times a squashy bank, sometimes a drain 
 muffled in briars, sometimes a little slatey wall, 
 wandering in the sedge, and looking as if it 
 were built of cards ; more often, as the valley 
 was left behind, cattle-passes revealed them- 
 selves and were accepted by the party with 
 gratitude. There were indeed now but three 
 concerned. Tom Coyne and the grey mare 
 had been turned back by the grey mare's 
 owner, and had been last seen on a road, 
 trailing disconsolately homewards, like a dog 
 that has been driven back from church. (And 
 why all dogs should so greatly desire to go to 
 church is a matter for a committee of bishops 
 and veterinary surgeons to decide upon.) 
 
 Fifty yards ahead of the others Lottery 
 pursued her way at a steady trot over the
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 253 
 
 rough ground ; If Katharine deviated from her 
 leader's track she found herself In difficulties ; 
 It was as though there were but one way, and 
 John Michael had trodden It from childhood. 
 She began to apprehend, dimly and for the 
 first time, the varied gifts that are needed In 
 getting over country like this without a pause. 
 It was a long and Inexorable trot ; as time 
 went on, and the seemingly tireless hounds 
 carried their wavering banner of music across 
 the wide hill-country, she found herself thinking 
 less of whether Dermot would last, and more 
 as to whether she herself could stand It much 
 longer. She who had always regarded a weak 
 back as an almost moral defect, and was quite 
 aware of the straightness and suppleness of her 
 own, now found that she was drooping in her 
 saddle, weighed down by something that was 
 not merely fatigue, that was worse than fatigue, 
 a creeping sense of weakness, a feeling that if 
 she let go for a moment she would lose her 
 courage. 
 
 " An hour and fifty-seven minutes ! " ex- 
 ulted Jimmy Doyle, as they stood in the 
 shelter of a ruined cottage and watched the 
 hounds, again at fault. " I declare I could be 
 sorry for the rest of them that we left after us ! 
 I think the fox has us beat for all that," he
 
 254 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 went on, as the hounds wandered onwards 
 without conviction, and with not more than a 
 hint of scent vouchsafed at intervals. " It was 
 that check on the road saved him." 
 
 They moved ahead and upwards into thin, 
 low heather ; advancing at a walk, they topped 
 the ridge of the hill, and the wind rushed upon 
 them, with the damp and smell of the sea in it, 
 and huge grey clouds drove across the lesser 
 grey of the sky, like a herd of charging elephants 
 intent on some titanic chase of their own. Below 
 were long dreary slopes of heather, stretching 
 away illimitably ; over the edge of the world, 
 Katharine thought. This was the shortest day 
 of the year, and it seemed to her the longest, 
 though even already the threat of darkness was 
 in it. There was nothing worthy the name of 
 sunset, but a yellowish glow on the western 
 clouds told that the sun was nearing the unseen 
 Atlantic. 
 
 " That's File-na-Showk ! " shouted Jimmy 
 Doyle against the wind, pointing with his crop 
 to a peaked hill that rose darkly in the west. 
 " You can see that from the hill back of 
 Lake View." 
 
 Katharine looked at File-na-Showk, brown 
 and forbidding in its naked nearness, and re- 
 called the blue and delicate shape that she had
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 255 
 
 seen one sunny morning, across the curves of 
 lesser hills, and remembered how a man, cutting 
 furze, had told Ulick Adare what its name was. 
 It all came back to her very clearly. Ulick 
 Adare had said its salient spike was like the 
 Dent du Chat, and they had then looked down 
 at the little lake below them, and conceded 
 that for blueness it must yield to Lac Bourget. 
 They had talked of La Chambotte, perched 
 high on its precipice above the lake, of its tea 
 and hot scones, its vision of celestial Alps, seen 
 through the haze ; of the tiny strip of braid 
 below, where crept, between mountain and 
 water, a tiny caterpillar that was an express that 
 had thundered its way through the Mont Cenis. 
 " Our expresses are donkey-carts ! " she had 
 said, " and I much prefer them ! " She had 
 also told Ulick y\dare that he would never 
 know what Irish scenery could be until he 
 came out hunting with her and Mrs. Delanty. 
 
 " You're fifteen miles from home this 
 minute ! " 
 
 Katharine came back with a start from 
 High Savoy, and was aware that Mr. Doyle 
 was regarding her with a compassionate 
 grin. 
 
 "Johnny never knows when he's had 
 enough. I think it's time for me to tell him
 
 256 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 he's lost a couple of shoes, and indeed I may 
 say you're no better yourself! " 
 
 He left her and rode to the lonely figure 
 that was moving steadily onwards ; the two 
 red coats borrowed strength of colour from the 
 dull glow of yellow in the west, and with self- 
 assertion and with tyranny subdued the brown 
 and grey wilderness into a background for 
 themselves. The hounds were scattered widely 
 in front of them, searching, and still searching, 
 for that which was lost to them. 
 
 John Michael put his horn to his lips, and 
 blew a long and cheerless note. 
 
 " Home ! " he blew. " Home ! " 
 
 And Dan Russel the Fox, lying, very tired 
 and dirty, under the lee side of a rock half-way 
 up File-na-Showk, heard the long note, and 
 said to himself that he was done. He arose 
 stiffly, and listened with pricked ears, and stared 
 down across the valley with yellow intense 
 eyes, that were by this time rather back in his 
 head. 
 
 It was some little time before he allowed 
 himself to believe that the odd trick was his.
 
 A 
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 MORE thoroughly thwarted individual 
 than Mr. Fitz-Symons, junior, could 
 scarcely have been found in the Pro- 
 vince of Munster. He had not accounted for 
 his fox, he was short three and a half couple 
 of hounds, perhaps left behind in Corrigilihy, 
 perhaps at this moment running the line of 
 their comrades, being chivvied by cur-dogs, or 
 enticed into captivity by country boys with a 
 view to reward. He was fifteen or more miles 
 from kennels, and there was the delay of 
 getting the horses shod. He said to himself 
 that if it wasn't that Lottery's hoofs weren't 
 the best, he'd chance it, but there'd be row 
 enough with Gus as it was, without bringing 
 the mare in lame. 
 
 He was, at this point in his meditations, 
 engaged in pushing his muddy, discomfited 
 hounds into a shed at the back of the forge ; 
 he felt certain that there would be hoof-parings 
 in it, which they would fight over, eat, and 
 s 257
 
 258 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 make themselves sick with. Among the three 
 horses there were five shoes gone, and no 
 matter what the smith said, he knew it would 
 be a good hour before he had the five 
 "slippers" on them. John Michael, though 
 an easy-going person, kicked the sagging door 
 of the shed savagely, in order to induce it to 
 shut, and thought to himself that, as the delay 
 was on him, he might as well have a cup of 
 tea, as well as another. 
 
 There was a thatched cottage near the forge, 
 the private residence of the blacksmith, and 
 John Michael directed his steps towards it. It 
 was noticeable that he walked as easily and 
 ordinarily in his hunting-boots and breeches as 
 in any other costume. He neither straddled, 
 nor hobbled, nor conformed with any other con- 
 vention of sporting gait ; he merely walked. 
 He had tramped in them for miles in deep furze 
 and tangled woods, and the process had con- 
 ferred ease alike upon them and their wearer. 
 It was the hopeless thing about John Michael 
 that he had no professional airs, no airs, indeed, 
 of any kind, which is a serious disadvantage to 
 penniless youth, however good looking. 
 
 It was twilight, and there was a light in the 
 window of the smith's cottage. John Michael 
 opened the door and walked in out of the cold
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 259 
 
 fierce evening into a glow of firelight. It was 
 a large and roomy cottage with an earthen 
 floor, and a big, blackened chimney-place with 
 a projecting hood like a long upper-lip ; the fire 
 was on the hearth, a turf fire that had been 
 reinforced with scraps of coal and a crow's nest 
 of broken twigs, through which the blades of 
 flame grew up like grass. Above, in the blue, 
 clambering smoke, a kettle hung and sang in 
 burly joviality. Katharine was sitting on a 
 kitchen-chair by the hearth, her profile very 
 pale against the dark chimney corner. She 
 looked at John Michael as he came in with the 
 look that people give to those they have been 
 expecting, whether consciously or unconsciously, 
 and in response to it John Michael came gin- 
 gerly in and sat down on a chair with his back 
 to the wall, like a servant at a registry-office. 
 
 ** Wouldn't the gentleman come down to 
 the fire?" said the smith's mother, looking at 
 John Michael with a jolly eye. She was kneel- 
 ing at the hearth with a large brown tea-pot in 
 her hand, and above her stood Jimmy Doyle, 
 warming one muddy foot after the other. 
 " Sure ye're dead, the v/hole kit o' ye ! 'Tis 
 yee that got hardship ! " 
 
 Katharine moved her chair a little to one 
 side to make more room.
 
 26o DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 "Not much hardship, I thnik!" she said, 
 looking at him with a smile that said more than 
 she knew. Over-fatigue is hke slight drunken- 
 ness : it weakens the power of concealing 
 emotion, sometimes, even, it awakens emotion. 
 
 John Michael came forward with his cap in 
 his hand, looking more than ever like a Spanish 
 gipsy. 
 
 " It's the poor hounds got hardship ! " he 
 said, sitting down on thfe settle at the opposite 
 side of the fire, " to lose their fox after all ! " 
 
 He looked at Katharine with more of 
 comradeship than he had yet ventured, and 
 thought to himself that it had been too big a 
 day for her entirely, her first time out after that 
 concussion. He remembered that he had had 
 practically to lift her off her horse at the 
 forge. 
 
 " I'm afraid it was you got the worst hard- 
 ship," he added. 
 
 "It was worth it!" said Katharine, with 
 another of those unguarded, charming, tired 
 smiles. 
 
 " I wonder will you be thinking that this 
 time to-morrow ! " said John Michael, regarding 
 her almost as kindly as if she were a hound. 
 
 '* I don't care what I feel like to-morrow," 
 said Katharine, " I've had my hunt!"
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 261 
 
 " And you rode it well too ! " said John 
 Michael, warmly. 
 
 Jimmy Doyle, looking down upon them, said 
 to himself, " Hullo! hullo! hullo! Johnny, my 
 lad, maybe you're not such a fool as we think ! ' 
 
 Here the smith's mother informed them 
 that the tay was wet. The chairs were dragged 
 across the hills and dales of the earthen floor to 
 the table under the window ; the wind rumbled 
 in the chimney, and wrangled shrilly outside 
 with the fuchsia hedge with a sound as if it 
 were whistling through its teeth. The lamp 
 flared in the draught from a cracked pane. 
 Turf-smoke and salt struggled for supremacy 
 in the butter, the bread tasted of the box in 
 which it resided with the bacon; yet as Katharine 
 sat at the end of the table and wielded the big- 
 tea-pot with a stiff and tired arm, she was aware 
 of the strangest content, of something that was 
 lulling, and even enchanting. She was in an 
 oasis, with the rest of life away at the far edge 
 of the wilderness. She was in the bright ring 
 of the magic-lantern, and everything else was 
 in darkness. 
 
 The three hunters, following immemorial 
 precedent, talked of the run, and of it only, 
 mile by mile, almost jump by jump. To 
 Katharine it was all horses, to John Michael it
 
 262 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 was all hounds; Jimmy Doyle maintained an 
 illuminating course between the two points. 
 The seriousness of the two young men, their 
 decorum, their deference to her, gave Katharine 
 a peculiar and most subtle thrill. She met, 
 with a delight in its simplicity, John Michael's 
 clear and earnest gaze as he explained where, 
 at a critical point. Frantic had picked up the 
 line, and how Vanity had once gone near putting 
 them astray, only for his knowing she might 
 tell a lie, once in a while, she might have lost 
 them the hunt ; the gravity of such a disaster 
 was reflected in his face. 
 
 The attractiveness of simplicity is reserved 
 for those who are not simple. Katharine saw 
 him as if he were a picture ; his looks spoke 
 to her of romance, his sincerity moved her like 
 music, she felt that security and repose came 
 to her from him. Strangely, through all, was 
 blended the protective instinct. No matter 
 how she hid it from herself, the consciousness 
 of his class was always there ; it was as if he 
 were a child, with some slight lameness or dis- 
 figurement, that she would shelter with a fierce 
 tenderness. She wished that Jean Masterman 
 were there, to see him as she saw him, and to 
 have to confess that he was a gentleman in the 
 oldest sense of the word.
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 263 
 
 A loud and startling rapping on the window 
 interrupted this idyllic meal. In the small 
 square of the window the face of Fanshawe 
 was suddenly presented to them. 
 
 "Run them all to ground!" he shouted 
 through the wind to an unseen companion, 
 "open the door! " 
 
 Jimmy Doyle's chair fell with a clatter as 
 he sprang to obey the summons ; the door 
 opened, the shoulder of the wind driving it in, 
 and Mrs. Delanty and Fanshawe came in on 
 top of the gust. The idyll departed up the 
 chimney (in the teeth of the smoke, which was 
 coming down it), and the smith's mother said 
 audibly — 
 
 " The Lord have mercy upon us ! I couldn't 
 get another egg for them if I was to crack me 
 neck for it ! " 
 
 There was that about Mrs. Delanty that 
 spoke of tidings, a manner of importance, even 
 of severity. 
 
 "We've found you at last!" she began, 
 with her eyes on John Michael, "you seem to 
 be enjoying yourselves ! I suppose you don't 
 know that the Master went home at one 
 o'clock ? " 
 
 " Did anything happen him ? " said John 
 Michael.
 
 264 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 "Plenty!" said Mrs. Delanty, accepting as 
 a tribute and without remark the chair proffered 
 to her by the smith's mother (who afterwards 
 in this connection said to her son that That 
 One had no more manners than belonged to 
 her). 
 
 ** He's had the biggest row with Dunnigan 
 Brieshka that ever he's had with any one," 
 resumed the widow. " He sent the Field 
 home and told them he'd never take the hounds 
 out again." 
 
 Silence followed this announcement, and 
 every one looked at John Michael, who main- 
 tained a steadfast countenance. 
 
 " He asked me and Mr. Fanshawe to find 
 you and tell you you were to come home at 
 once." 
 
 " Well, I'm coming," said John Michael, 
 shortly. " Had he any hounds with him ? " 
 
 Mrs. Delanty 's face changed. 
 
 " He had two and a half couple with him," 
 she said slowly. 
 
 "There's a couple away, so," said John 
 Michael. He had no desire to discuss at this 
 juncture the more momentous tidings; "they'll 
 come home all right." 
 
 Mrs. Delanty hesitated; she understood 
 very well how much she was going to hurt
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 265 
 
 him. Quite suddenly her eyes filled with 
 tears. 
 
 " It was Sindbad and Fantasy," she said 
 with a choke. " They picked up something 
 on Brieshka's land." 
 
 "Poison ?" said John Michael, quickly. 
 
 She nodded her head. 
 
 " Was nothing done for them ? " 
 
 " We did all we could," said Mrs. Delanty, 
 putting her handkerchief to her eyes ; " butter, 
 and all sorts — it was strychnine — they were 
 too far gone." 
 
 " That settles it," said John Michael, pick- 
 ing up his cap and walking to the door. " I'd 
 best see if the horses are ready." 
 
 Mrs. Delanty followed him to the door. 
 
 " Reveller picked up a bit too, but I think 
 he got the emetic in time. Mrs. Clery took 
 him straight to Ashgrove in her pony-trap." 
 
 " Did any more get it ?" said John Michael, 
 standing still, with a face of stone. 
 
 "No, no, no!" she said eagerly. "That 
 was all — ^just those three." 
 
 " Look here, Fitz-Symons," said Fanshawe, 
 *' is there nothing I can do for you ? Help 
 you to get the hounds home, or anything ? " 
 
 " Doyle will do that," said John Michael, 
 dully. " I'm obliged to you all the same."
 
 266 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 "Johnny," said Mrs. Delanty in a low 
 voice, putting her hand on his sleeve, " every 
 one knows there's no spite against jj/^« / " Her 
 dark eyes were brimming as she looked up at 
 him. 
 
 "What good is that when they poison my 
 hounds ? " he said, opening the door cautiously, 
 so as to minimize the inrush of the wind. 
 
 She was very close to him as he released 
 the inside latch and took hold of the outside 
 one. 
 
 " I'm sure you did your best, anyway," 
 iie said. 
 
 " I'd do more than that for you, Johnny," 
 she murmured, with an impulse as strong as 
 the wind that sprang in at her. 
 
 She had a moment of meeting his eyes, 
 and the trouble in them, before the door closed. 
 
 "May the divil flog Dunnigan Brieshka's 
 soul to hell ! " said the smith's mother, who 
 was a woman of wide sympathies.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 THE night was very dark. The wind 
 blew in power, and the heavy-laden 
 sky fled before it. It was behind 
 the tired hounds and horses and riders as 
 they moved along the dim roads ; it swept 
 them on ; it roared in their ears like a river 
 in flood. Now and again a young moon, 
 furtive and curved like an Eastern knife, thrust 
 her blade through the confusion of clouds, 
 mastered them for a moment, and was over- 
 whelmed. The miles of road yielded them- 
 selves up slowly and grudgingly, and with 
 every mile the fatigue, that had been some- 
 thing mitigated by rest and food, settled again 
 like lead upon Katharine. She and her two 
 companions seemed to be the only human 
 beings who had not been blown into shelter. 
 Here and there a yellow star shone across 
 the dark country, out of unknown heights or 
 hollows, with inevitable mystery and sugges- 
 tion. People were there, fortunate, sheltered 
 
 267
 
 268 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 people, above all, stationary people ; people 
 whom fate did not compel to advance end- 
 lessly through darkness, as she was doing, 
 cramped in one unalterable position, with a 
 back that responded painfully to every shuffling 
 stride of the tired horse. 
 
 An age or two passed — in silence, because 
 the wind made conversation with Jimmy Doyle 
 too difficult. The half-seen figure in front 
 came to a stop. 
 
 " Jimmy ! D'ye know which is the road ? " 
 
 Katharine perceived that they had come 
 to cross-roads of indeterminate character. 
 
 ' ' I forget is it here we turn off .^ " 
 
 John Michael's southern, high tenor voice 
 cleft the wind as only such voices can. 
 
 "I d'no!" yelled Jimmy. "I'll ask at 
 the house." 
 
 One of the yellow and mysterious stars 
 had resolved itself into the light of a cottage 
 away to the left. 
 
 •' Better be sure than sorry," he said to 
 Katharine. "You have enough before you 
 still, without our losing the way for you." 
 
 Dermot strayed on, and Katharine found 
 herself in the middle of the hounds, who, with 
 their huntsman, had pressed close under a high 
 bank for shelter.
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 269 
 
 " It's a long road," said John Michael. 
 " There's a short cut we might take, but I'm 
 not too sure of it in the dark." 
 
 " How much farther is it ? " she asked. 
 
 " It mightn't be more than another six or 
 seven miles," he said compassionately. " I'm 
 afraid you're dead." 
 
 •' I afn very tired," said Katharine, yield- 
 ing to a sudden and irrepressible craving for 
 his sympathy. 
 
 "That's too bad! It must be that you're 
 feeling that fall a bit still." 
 
 He spoke with concern, as well as with 
 the respectfulness that so continually touched 
 her, and hurt her too. 
 
 " I used to think nothing could tire me," 
 
 she said ; " but now, somehow " There 
 
 was a catch in her voice, and she broke off. 
 " I'm talking of myself," she said, " and it's 
 really you who are to be pitied, with all this 
 trouble about the hounds " 
 
 " It cannot be helped," said John Michael, 
 using the invariable formula of the peasant 
 when sympathy for the irrevocable is offered. 
 " I'm sorry you didn't stay at the smith's house 
 with Mrs. Delanty," he went on in his serious 
 voice. " We could have sent a car for you." 
 
 " I much preferred riding," said Katharine,
 
 270 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 recognizing the guileless good intention of this 
 somewhat ungallant speech, and replying to 
 it with an equal sincerity. 
 
 Here Jimmy Doyle's voice came to them 
 out of the darkness. 
 
 " It's the left-hand road, and you'll go 
 through the end of Drumcoora Wood." 
 
 They continued their journey, and Katharine 
 rode beside John Michael. 
 
 The wind resumed its bleak tyranny, and 
 flying wisps of rain scourged them as with the 
 lash of a knout. Tired as they were, the 
 horses quickened their pace of their own 
 accord ; the road slanted downwards into a 
 glen, and presently the shelter of Drumcoora 
 Wood enclosed them as suddenly as if they 
 had entered a room. The rush of the wind 
 was in the branches high above their heads, 
 but on the road it was as still as if they were 
 under the sea. It was profoundly dark, and 
 Katharine, riding on John Michael's left, felt 
 Dermot draw close to the chestnut mare as if 
 in need of companionship. That which was 
 hot at Katharine's heart found its opportunity. 
 
 " I wish I could tell you how much I feel 
 for you," she broke out. " I mean about the 
 poisoning of the hounds. There is something so 
 brutal about it — I know how you must feel it ! "
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 271 
 
 There was a pause. 
 
 " I'm not saying they were the best I had," 
 said John Michael, with his invincible sim- 
 plicity, " but it cuts me to think they'd die that 
 way, and me not to be there to do what I could 
 for them." 
 
 " Oh ! I understand that so well ! " said 
 Katharine, ardently. 
 
 John Michael received this assurance in 
 silence. 
 
 "The worst thing about it," he resumed 
 in a lifeless voice, ** is thinking any one in 
 this country, that I thought was so friendly, 
 would go to lay poison before hounds. I 
 wouldn't mind them having a bit of a row with 
 Gus. That's nothing new." 
 
 " What will happen ? Must the hounds be 
 given up ? Why should you have to suffer for 
 other people ? " said Katharine, charging into 
 the heart of the matter. 
 
 "This looks like a notice to quit, anyway," 
 said John Michael. 
 
 ** It wasn't meant for you," she said im- 
 pulsively. " Any one can see — I can see 
 myself — how much the people like you ! " 
 
 " It's Gus that owns the hounds," said John 
 Michael, after an embarrassed silence. 
 
 " It would be all right if you were the
 
 272 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 Master ! You know that ! " said Katharine, 
 with a burning determination to pierce his 
 armour of respect and humiHty. For the first 
 time in her acquaintance she heard him laugh. 
 
 " And Gus to pay for them, I suppose ! 
 He'd Hke that ! " 
 
 *' It's very much what he's doing now ! " 
 said Katharine, hotly. "Why shouldn't he 
 help you ? Think of all you've done for him ! " 
 
 " He'd not do it," said John Michael, with 
 complete finality. " And I wouldn't ask it 
 from him either." 
 
 Her intense fatigue played its treacherous 
 part in breaking down her sense of proportion ; 
 the loneliness and darkness pressed on her ; 
 she wanted his kindness, his strength ; she was 
 quivering with his wrongs, yet if she had laid 
 her head on his shoulder, it would have been 
 in defeat, not in championing. 
 
 ** Let 7ue help you," she said in a voice into 
 which tenderness escaped in spite of her. 
 
 He made no answer. She could not tell if 
 he heard her or not. The road had turned 
 sharply at the end of the wood, and the wind 
 rushed at them, broadside on, across the 
 shuddering breast of the country. It shouted 
 in their ears, it drove between them in in- 
 tolerable egotism, and in it came the rain.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 MRS. FITZ-SYMONS went heavily, 
 yet energetically, upstairs, for pro- 
 bably the fiftieth time that after- 
 noon. She bore in one hand a cup of hot 
 milk and in the other a bottle of brandy ; her 
 countenance was perturbed, her cap rode 
 aslant on her heated brow. She crossed the 
 landing, and went down a narrow passage, 
 filling it comfortably from wall to wall. Stop- 
 ping at a door she pushed it in with her knee. 
 
 " Now, Mary," she said, " come on and 
 we'll give him this. It's a full half-hour since 
 he had the last. What way is he ? " 
 
 " You'd say he was nicely, ma'am," replied 
 Mary. " There wasn't a stir out of him since I 
 came up." 
 
 This was not altogether what Mrs. Fitz- 
 
 Symons desired to hear. She deposited her 
 
 burden upon a table, took up the small lamp that 
 
 indifferently lighted the room, and held it low 
 
 over an old sofa in a corner by a stove. The 
 
 T 273
 
 274 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 young hound, Reveller, lay there, extended on 
 his side, one would have said lifeless, so prone 
 and motionless he was, so deadly white the 
 skin round his eyes and about his muzzle. He 
 had had less of the strychnine than his com- 
 rades, the crucial attacks of convulsion and 
 rigidity had passed, and were now succeeded 
 by the scarcely less crucial condition of collapse. 
 As she stooped over him, he lifted his eyelids 
 towards her, and made a little movement of 
 a hind leg, all the welcome he could put forth 
 from under the weight of weakness. 
 
 " Poor Reveller ! " she said, laying her fat, 
 motherly hand lightly on his side ; " poor 
 puppy ! I wish I had the blackguard here 
 that put you this way ! Come on, Mary, he's 
 in want of the brandy." 
 
 The sick hound yielded to their ministra- 
 tions, because he was too weak to resist. 
 
 " Run away now, girl, and see is the fire 
 lighting well in Master Johnny's room. My 
 gracious goodness ! D'ye hear the rain ! What 
 in the wide world is keeping him, I don't 
 know ! Look at the hour it is, going on for 
 nine o'clock ! " 
 
 Mrs. Fitz-Symons gave to the little stove 
 the niggling poke that is all that is possible in 
 dealing with its mean tribe, and seated herself
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 275 
 
 in the room's solitary chair, by the room's 
 solitary table. 
 
 It was a small room, on the borderland 
 between a servant's bedroom of the pre-historic 
 type and a lumber-room ; it had a skylight 
 instead of a window, cobwebs instead of cur- 
 tains. It was the lair in which John Michael 
 preserved such personal matters as the remnant 
 of his medical books, his horse and hound 
 medicines, ancient, and highly odorous hound- 
 couples, and sundry articles of horse clothing 
 which he held in reserve, concealed from even 
 Tom Coyne. It was over the kitchen, and in 
 close touch with the backstairs, and in con- 
 sequence of these privileges was used by its 
 owner as a nursing home and private ward for 
 the kennels. Mrs. Fitz-Symons took her knit- 
 ting out of a black velvet bag that hung at 
 her side, and resolutely composed herself to 
 patience. Her broad brow had lines of distress 
 in it, and there was more than a tinge of red 
 round the open blue eyes that kept so gallantly 
 the flag of youth flying in them. 
 
 She had been through deep waters since 
 her step-son came home that afternoon, and she 
 knew that even deeper were in front of her ; 
 Gus was not going to stop the hunting and 
 stop the hounds without making some one
 
 276 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 sorry for it, and the first and the last person 
 whom he would make sorry for it would be 
 Johnny. Mrs. Fitz-Symons here closed her 
 mouth very tightly, then, knitting hard, opened 
 it again and whispered to herself various 
 repartees that she would launch on behalf of 
 her Johnny, when the hour of the deeper 
 waters was upon her and him. 
 
 The sick puppy panted and stirred a little ; 
 she went to him and put a thermometer within 
 the fold of his fore-arm, stroking his feeble 
 opposition into quietness while she did so, and 
 thought that you'd hardly know which it was 
 you were nursing, a dog or a Christian, only 
 that the dog was much the best patient. She 
 studied the thermometer at the lamp, with her 
 spectacles on, and found that the gleaming 
 thread of silver touched a point higher than at 
 the last record. 
 
 "Well, that's something good to tell Johnny, 
 anyway," she said. 
 
 As she was putting it away there arose to 
 her from among the vague noises of the kitchen 
 below the voice of Mary. 
 
 ** The horses are after coming up to the 
 front door, Ma'am ! " it proclaimed. 
 
 •'Up to the front door!" repeated Mrs. 
 Fitz-Symons, starting up.
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 277 
 
 She had had one shock that day, and her 
 knees were shaking under her as she hurried 
 out of the room and down the passage. " Is 
 it an accident ? " she thought, and then — 
 " Johnny ! " 
 
 The hall lamp was flaring in the draught 
 from the open door ; she looked down into 
 the hall, and saw a tall woman standing there 
 in a riding habit, her hat shining with rain. 
 
 " Who's that ? " cried Mrs. Fitz-Symons. 
 ** Has anything happened to Johnny ? " 
 
 " He's all right," replied the surly voice of her 
 step-son. '• This is Miss Rowan. Come down." 
 
 " Thank God ! " breathed Mrs. Fitz-Symons, 
 as she descended. 
 
 Katharine was standing with her hand on 
 the hall table, as if to steady herself. 
 
 " My goodness, Miss Rowan! are you all 
 alone?" exclaimed Mrs. Fitz-Symons. "Where's 
 Johnny?" 
 
 " He's gone on to the kennels," said 
 Katharine ; " he insisted on my coming in, I 
 was so tired and wet. He said I might ask 
 you if you would kindly let me go home in 
 your covered car. I'm afraid I can't ride any 
 further " 
 
 Mrs. Fitz-Symons gave a single swift look 
 at Katharine's white face.
 
 278 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 " I'll kindly do no such thing ! " she replied, 
 putting her hand on Katharine's sodden coat 
 sleeve; "why, my patience alive, child ! you're 
 drowned ! " 
 
 The master of the house shut the hall door 
 with a bang, an act which might, by a stretch 
 of imagination, possibly be construed as signify- 
 ing his acceptance of Miss Rowan as a guest. 
 
 " It's a pity he didn't insist on your coming 
 in a little sooner ! " he said ; the bitter rage 
 that had been fermenting in him since the 
 morning loaded his glance at Katharine, and 
 every line of his face showed black under the 
 unsparing top-light of the lamp. 
 
 Some sub-section of her brain perceived 
 that his evening attire took the form of a 
 tweed suit, too shabby to wear in the daytime ; 
 she was also aware that he smelt of whisky 
 and tobacco. It was a smell entirely appro- 
 priate to him ; intolerable, after the pure anger 
 of the wind and rain out of which she had 
 come. 
 
 " I'm very glad he didn't," she said defiantly, 
 " we've had a wonderful run 1 " 
 
 " It's the last run, wonderful or no, any 
 one'll have with my hounds ! " retorted the 
 Master, loudly ; " when my hounds are poisoned 
 and my huntsman refuses to obey my orders,
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 279 
 
 it's about time for me to pitch the whole show 
 to the devil — and I wish I'd done it long 
 ago! 
 
 Mrs. Fitz-Symons pushed Katharine to- 
 wards the stairs — 
 
 " Come up ! My dear ! Come up this 
 minute and get those wet things off you ! " she 
 exclaimed, volubly interposing, " sure your 
 teeth are chattering in your head this minute ! 
 A good glass of hot punch is what you should 
 have ! " 
 
 Mr. Fitz-Symons swung into the dining- 
 room and banged the door. 
 
 *' You may bang your doors, me laddie-o ! " 
 said his stepmother to herself, dauntlessly. 
 To Katharine, for the honour of the house, she 
 said with a large wink — 
 
 " He's vexed now, and when men are that 
 way it's no use talking to them — and indeed, 
 to tell the truth, he got bad treatment to-day ! 
 Don't bother your head now about anything ; 
 Jimmy Doyle will leave a message at Lake 
 View for you on his way home." 
 
 For half an hour the household of Ashgrove 
 wrought in a fever of ministration to Miss 
 Rowan. The inevitable bucketful of live coals 
 was conveyed from the kitchen and emptied 
 into the grate of " the spare room," a genial
 
 28o DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 method, whose instant efficacy atoned for the 
 attendant smoke clouds that tracked its passage 
 through the house. Genial also was the ready 
 flame of the bogwood that was lavishly added. 
 Mrs. Fitz-Symons and Mary ran like excur- 
 sion trains, heavily laden ones, between the 
 kitchen and the spare room, conveying tea, 
 soup, punch, blankets, at five-minute intervals. 
 At each entry a battle was fought with the lock 
 of the door. 
 
 " There's no keeping it shut, bother it ! " 
 said Mrs. Fitz-Symons, banging it ineffectu- 
 ally for the twentieth time. " I'm tired asking 
 the carpenter to mend it ! Indeed the last 
 message I got was from his wife. * If he 
 was in love with you,* she says, 'he couldn't 
 mend it for you, he's that busy ' ! " 
 
 At the end of the half-hour, Katharine was 
 reclining in an armchair, in front of the fire, 
 attired in a flowing robe-de-chambre of Tyrian 
 purple, provided by her hostess, while Mary 
 timorously, and with heavy breathings, dried 
 and brushed her wet yellow hair. 
 
 Katharine had written to Mrs. Masterman 
 the most conciliatory explanation that her frozen 
 brain and fingers could accomplish, but she was 
 aware that Jean was not going to be pleased. 
 Again she wished that Jean could be with
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 281 
 
 her, to see what these people, whom she so 
 sedulously undervalued and misunderstood, 
 were really like, and how superior was their 
 hospitality to the tepid toleration of the pro- 
 fessional hostess. She was intensely and over- 
 whelmingly tired ; she could not think, except 
 in snatches, but the creature that is behind 
 thought hung her brain with pictures. She lay 
 there, obsessed by images of John Michael. 
 She saw him, wet and tired, feeding his hounds, 
 while his step-brother lay in wait for him in that 
 den into which he had slammed himself. She 
 saw his grave face, his shy, kindly eyes, his 
 light figure in the shabby red coat ; she felt his 
 strong hands, and their gentleness, as he lifted 
 her off her horse. 
 
 Mary crept out of the room, and hastened 
 downstairs to inform the kitchen that the young 
 lady was kilt tired altogether, and was gone 
 asleep, and God knew she had as much hair on 
 her head as'd fill a bolster. 
 
 Katharine slept, profoundly, motionlessly, 
 with her hair in a cloud about her pale face, 
 that always, in sleep, was both sweet and 
 severe. 
 
 " Indeed," as Mrs. Fitz-Symons afterwards 
 said, " she was a picture, there in the chair. 
 As handsome a girl as ever was in this
 
 282 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 country, and the stamp of high breeding on 
 her, and I'd hold to that if it was my dying 
 breath ! " 
 
 It was Mrs. Fitz-Symons herself who dis- 
 turbed Katharine's repose. ( 
 
 *' I'm come to put you into your bed, my 
 dear," she said, '' I don't hold with your sleep- 
 ing in the chair this way. It's eleven o'clock. 
 I saw the light in the crack of the door." 
 
 Katharine came up out of oblivion with a 
 wrench, and her surroundings jarred into their 
 places with a jerk, like badly handled stage 
 scenery. It had not been good sleep, it was 
 unpleasant sleep, with lead in it, and there 
 was a fog in her head, but she noticed almost 
 immediately a difference in the aspect of her 
 hostess. 
 
 " Has your son come In ? " she said, putting 
 her hand to her head as if to clear it. 
 
 " Is it Johnny ? " said Mrs. Fitz-Symons, 
 with a pant in her voice as of recent stress, 
 " he's in this hour and a half. Didn't you hear 
 them talking .-* " 
 
 She looked hard at Katharine. 
 
 " I heard nothing," said Katharine, casting 
 her mind back into that dark pit of sleep. 
 
 " It was himself and the brother," went on 
 Mrs. Fitz-SymonSj the candlestick shaking in 
 
 ^
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 283 
 
 her hand, " the first time ever I knew Johnny 
 to answer him back ! " She sat down abruptly. 
 " Oh, Miss Rowan, my dear, the hunting's done, 
 and my boy is going from me ! " 
 
 Katharine sat up in her chair. " Going ! '* 
 she repeated, with a tone in her voice that 
 penetrated Mrs. Fitz-Symons' own distress. 
 
 Mrs. Fitz-Symons wiped her eyes openly 
 and unreservedly ; she was candid in all her 
 emotions and in the manifestation of them. 
 
 *' Why wouldn't he go.-* " she said, " when 
 his own brother told him he wouldn't keep him 
 here eating his head off at his expense. There 
 was a nice thing for one brother to say to 
 another ! And Johnny that worked for him 
 day and night like a negro slave. He'll know 
 the difference of it when he's gone from him." 
 
 " How could he say such a thing to him ? " 
 said Katharine, flinging away discretion. " It 
 was cowardly — horrible." 
 
 Mrs. Fitz-Symons was again aware of an 
 intensity of sympathy for which she had not 
 been prepared. 
 
 " And to say it to Johnny ! The gentlest 
 creature that ever came into a house. Too 
 gentle he was, and that's what I often told him. 
 I had my answer for Gus. I told him up to 
 his teeth, 'your pour lather left me this house,'
 
 284 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 says I, * for as long as I live, and Johnny shall 
 stay in it while he pleases.' " 
 
 *' Well done ! " said Katharine, hotly. 
 
 '• But what good is it for me," went on 
 Mrs. Fitz-Symons, clenching her handkerchief 
 into a ball, " Johnny says he'll go to America ! " 
 
 The name that has cleft the heart of many 
 mothers, felled her courage, and her voice 
 collapsed for a moment. 
 
 ** He says there's a pack of hounds out 
 there that's wanting a huntsman — a man that 
 wrote about hounds was asking did he know of 
 any one would go — he has it all planned." 
 
 Katharine lay back again in her chair. It 
 seemed as if the name of America had cleft her 
 heart too. 
 
 " If this house is yours," she said at last, 
 speaking slowly and steadily, while Mrs. Fitz- 
 Symons again dried her eyes, " why shouldn't 
 he stay here and keep the hounds ? He might 
 be helped to buy them, and he could be given 
 larger subscriptions." 
 
 "And who's going to help him ?" inquired 
 Mrs. Fitz-Symons, with a streak as of dawn 
 developing in the back of her shrewd mind. 
 
 " Every one would, I should think ! " said 
 Katharine, still feeling her way, but with a 
 quickened breath. " Any one who has been out
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 285 
 
 hunting here might be grateful for the oppor- 
 tunity of helping him, after all that he has 
 done " 
 
 ** They know well what he has done, and 
 no thanks to them ! " replied the mother of 
 John Michael, "but they'll not put their hands 
 in their pockets for him for all that, and if they 
 did they wouldn't find anything in them ! " 
 
 Katharine was silent, because she was 
 trying to put forth in a phrase the hot and 
 heroic schemes that were tumbling over one 
 another in her mind. It seemed to her that 
 she was like a huntsman trying to select one 
 hound from among a baying kennelful of eager 
 comrades. She had seen John Michael do it. 
 She was full of the great stimulants of wind, 
 and effort, and wide places ; the voices of the 
 hounds still cried in her ears. Through it all 
 she saw the face of Mrs. Fitz-Symons, moist 
 and expectant. 
 
 " / could help," she said. 
 
 Mrs. Fitz-Symons, with the utmost diffi- 
 culty, restrained herself from flinging her arms 
 round Katharine's neck, and hailing her as her 
 daughter-in-law. She was accustomed to the 
 simple, financial point of view in matters of the 
 heart, yet, as she looked at Katliarinc, some- 
 thing deep within her breathed a caution.
 
 286 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 With the unerring perception that belongs to 
 her country she was intensely aware of that 
 old-fashioned, intangible, invincible barrier of 
 class ; she recognized and reverenced it, in the 
 turn of Katharine's head, in the turn of her 
 thought, in every attitude of mind and body ; she 
 even discerned in her that intellectual quality 
 that had before now daunted the average youth. 
 
 " I know you would, my dear," she said, 
 with a tremble in her voice, " and if there was 
 any sort of a plan could be made, or any help 
 we could ask from you, indeed we wouldn't 
 scruple to ask it. Johnny said to me to-night 
 he never saw a lady to take such an interest in 
 the hunting as you did, nor one that'd ride out 
 the end of a hunt like yourself! " 
 
 Katharine's pale cheeks burned. " I only 
 followed him," she said in a low voice. 
 
 " There's a great many wouldn't do that ! " 
 said Mrs. Fitz-Symons proudly, " and I can 
 tell you one thing, I never heard Johnny to 
 praise any lady before. And what's more, he 
 wouldn't say it of you if he didn't think it, not 
 if you were the Queen ! " She paused, and 
 flung bogwood on the fire as though heaping 
 an altar to her son. 
 
 " He was very kind to me," murmured 
 Katharine, confusedly.
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 287 
 
 " Then I can tell you he was anxious 
 enough about you," went on Mrs. Fitz-Symons, 
 " as quiet as he is, there's very little that he 
 doesn't see ! He told me you have too much 
 courage, and that you did more than you were 
 able for." 
 
 The flame of the bogwood flared soft and 
 tall, and Katharine put her hand over her eyes 
 as if it hurt them. She had done her best, 
 and he had understood it, and in the middle of 
 his own trouble he was thinking of her; it 
 crept warmly to her heart. 
 
 " You're tired now," said her hostess, in- 
 stinctively leaving off in the right place, " and 
 you should go to your bed. It's time for me 
 to go and look after my poor puppy ; I'll not 
 let Johnny sit up with him to-night, no matter 
 what he says ! I declare the storm's gone 
 down. Have a good sleep now ! " She closed 
 the door as well as its incapable lock would 
 permit, and as she did so she said to herself, 
 " Please God, America mightn't get him after 
 all ! "
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 REVELLER fought for his life that 
 night, or, to speak more truly, the 
 battle was fought on his behalf. For 
 him the task of drawing each faint and flutter- 
 ing breath was enough, the swallowing of the 
 weary succession of potions almost more than 
 he could endure. 
 
 " Little and often ! " said Mrs. Fitz-Symons 
 to herself, as she once again lit the spirit lamp 
 and warmed up a brew of concentrated nourish- 
 ment that should reinforce the hard-pressed 
 fighting line. She had nursed many dogs, 
 young and old, since John Michael, at the age 
 of five, had brought in a little piteous cur with 
 a broken leg; she had seen many a hound- 
 puppy, buoyant, radiant, a miracle of vitality 
 and joviality, in a few days and nights collapse 
 and vanish in that stupefying waste that Nature 
 would seem to sanction. Mrs. Fitz-Symons 
 could, as she said, put up with Nature, but this 
 was not the hand of Nature, it was the hand 
 
 288
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 289 
 
 of man, striking in cowardly and stupid ma- 
 lignity at the innocent. 
 
 She shook her head over Reveller, and 
 thought he would hardly do ; none the less, 
 she was not the woman to give in till she was 
 beaten, and Reveller, who was the son of 
 Rachel, was very dear to John Michael, which 
 was enough for John Michael's mother. 
 
 "If he lives over the turn of the night it 
 will be a wonder," she said, looking at her 
 watch with eyes dim with sleep. " Three 
 o'clock ! I don't care what Johnny says, I'll 
 not call him." 
 
 She lifted Reveller's heavy, unresisting 
 head, and putting a towel under his chin skil- 
 fully administered the meat juice and the 
 brandy that he hated, yet swallowed, with the 
 touching submission that is in itself a sign of 
 ill omen. 
 
 " He'll do now till the half-hour," she said, 
 talking aloud for the company of her own 
 voice ; " I'll run down and make a cup of tea 
 before I go asleep standing ! " 
 
 A kettle was singing on the corner of the 
 
 kitchen range ; the rats were chirping like 
 
 chickens in the blackness of the scullery, the 
 
 cockroaches glittered as they lied before the 
 
 light of her candle, but beyond turning up the 
 u
 
 290 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 skirt of her dress in a complete and effectual 
 manner, Mrs. Fitz-Symons treated these noc- 
 turnal incidents with an accustomed calm. She 
 made the tea, and sat down by the table to 
 drink it, and knew the human relief of being 
 removed from the inhuman presence of un- 
 relenting illness, a commanding presence, even 
 in the case of an animal. Sleep was fighting 
 in her for the mastery, as if she had been 
 drugged, but the tea drove it back ; with a 
 cleared brain she plunged again into those 
 beatific visions of Johnny's future that, during 
 her vigil, had beguiled her drowsiness. 
 
 She was, as she often said, "a great one 
 for planning ; " she had never, she told herself, 
 known him to take as much notice of any girl 
 before. As for giving tea to a lady, and riding 
 home with her every step of fifteen miles, 
 never, no never, would she have believed he 
 would do such a thing, he, that had never so 
 much as looked crooked at any one. " A kind 
 of a nun of a fellow," Captain Bolger had called 
 him once, and she had been ready to tear his 
 eyes out at the insult. She wouldn't grudge 
 Johnny to think more of his horses and his 
 hounds than of girls and their nonsense, but a 
 bit of a flirtation never did any one any harm, 
 and it kept great life in the place. But, thanks
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 291 
 
 be to God, she thought, with exquisite satisfac- 
 tion, this was more than a flirtation, this was a 
 love affair ! With one stride her thoughts 
 travelled to the very house that Johnny should 
 take, the outhouses that could be turned into 
 kennels, the sheltered field that would make a 
 
 flower garden The daughter-in-law, who 
 
 was to accomplish this transformation, played 
 a somewhat nebulous part in the vision, but 
 always as a person of great distinction, com- 
 manding, throughout, the homage and the 
 jealousy of the neighbourhood. It did not seem 
 incongruous to her that, even in her inmost 
 thoughts, she could only think of her daughter- 
 in-law as " Miss Rowan." 
 
 She had sat there for nearly half an hour 
 when a sound in the room overhead made her 
 start to her feet with her hand on her heart. 
 It was a low, hollow howl from Reveller, long- 
 drawn and wavering, fraught with the utter- 
 most of despair. It was not the first time that 
 she had heard such a cry from a sick dog ; she 
 had heard it once, at night, from the stable 
 where lay a hound-mother with her puppies, 
 and the morning had found the mother stiff 
 and cold among her blind and searching children. 
 She had heard it uttered by a young hound 
 with distemper, who had been brought in to
 
 \ 
 
 292 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 spend the night by the kitchen fire, and he too 
 was dead when the morning came. And once 
 a little terrier, in the throes of pneumonia, had 
 in the dark of the small hours put up a similar 
 cry for help from its basket in her bedroom, 
 and she had been in time to drive away the 
 vulture of death that it had seen hovering. 
 
 Remembering these things, Mrs. Fitz- 
 Symons ran. She lumbered up the steep 
 back stairs, and hurried, panting and heavy- 
 footed, down the passage to the sickroom. 
 With all her speed, another had been speedier. 
 John Michael, in shirt and trousers, and bare- 
 footed, was kneeling by the sofa. 
 
 " The brandy, Mother ! Quick ! He's alive 
 yet ! " 
 
 Reveller was cold all over, his ears were 
 clammy, but there was still a stir in his heart. 
 They got brandy down his throat, they rubbed 
 him with it, and a tremble of recognition in the 
 eyelid answered them. They persevered, and 
 in ten minutes the patient, with a hot-water bag 
 at his back, was warm again and was sleeping 
 quietly. John Michael rose to his feet and 
 stretched himself, looking like an Italian sailor, 
 with his dark head, and bare, brown throat 
 and feet. 
 
 " I thought he was done for ! " he said.
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 293 
 
 shaking down the thermometer ; " it was a good 
 thing I was awake and heard him when he 
 cried out." 
 
 "Go back to your bed now," said Mrs. 
 Fitz-Symons, looking at him with the mother's 
 eye, that admires, and absorbs, and embraces, 
 " You're tired, my child, and indeed you have 
 a right to be tired." 
 
 " I'll stay for a while yet," he said, sitting 
 down on a ragged ottoman near the door ; 
 "you have the room rather hot." He pulled 
 the door open by the loop of string that served 
 as a handle. " It's not a cold night at all." 
 
 "Well, poor Miss Rowan thought it was 
 cold enough," replied his mother, snatching at 
 the topic that was nearest her heart ; " I hope 
 she won't be the worse of it." 
 
 " I'm afraid she won't be the better of it, 
 anyway," said John Michael ; " I dare say it'll 
 be no harm for her that she'll get no more 
 hunting here." 
 
 His voice was of a matter-of-fact dreariness ; 
 he had picked up an old hound-muzzle and was 
 mechanically straightening its wires with his 
 capable fingers. 
 
 Mrs. Fitz-Symons left Reveller abruptly 
 and sat down on the ottoman beside her son. 
 
 "Oh, Johnny!" she said, catching at his
 
 294 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 hand, "my darling boy! If you leave me my 
 heart will break ! " / 
 
 She sat fondling his hand, and sniffing, and 
 gazing at him, afraid of him, afraid for him, a 
 person greatly to be pitied. 
 
 John Michael was also suffering, for her as 
 well as for himself, but he had no way of telling 
 her so. 
 
 "What's the use of talking?" he said, at 
 last, after one of the silences to which his 
 mother had learned, not without difficulty, to 
 submit. "If the hounds go, I've got to go too. 
 You heard him saying that yourself. If I 
 wanted to stay he'd not keep me." 
 
 "He's not everybody!" flashed Mrs. Fitz- 
 Symons. " What does it matter what he wants ! 
 There's others I think more of than him want 
 you to stay ! I know one anyway " 
 
 Her son looked at her with tired, uninspired 
 eyes. He thought she was speaking of herself, 
 and the fetter of undemonstrativeness was on 
 him. 
 
 " Ah, they'd say a good deal just to please 
 you," he said, " but there's none of them will 
 do anything. Where would they get the 
 money .'* " 
 
 " Miss Rowan would help you," said his 
 mother, taking her hand off his lest he should
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 295 
 
 feel how much it trembled ; " she told me so 
 herself, and she can do it too." 
 
 John Michael regarded his mother in almost 
 angry bewilderment. He was accustomed to 
 discount her enthusiasms, but this amazing 
 statement had, as it were, to be swallowed 
 whole. 
 
 " She doesn't understand," he said with 
 
 confusion and even indignation. " How could 
 
 we take her money — if that's what you mean ? ' 
 
 His mother's heart rose high at sight of his 
 
 embarrassment, could it be ? — oh, could it 
 
 be? 
 
 " I'd take anything from her," she said, 
 watching John Michael's face, "because she's 
 
 a real lady, and the nicest girl, yes " here 
 
 Mrs. Fitz-Symons, in the intoxication of the 
 subject, deviated into rhapsody, " and the hand- 
 somest girl that ever I've met in my life." 
 
 " Did she tell you she'd buy the pack } " 
 said John Michael, incredulously. "Does she 
 want to run the hounds ? " 
 
 "Ah, God help you!" said Mrs. Fitz- 
 Symons, with sudden exasperation, "she didn't 
 say the very words. You think there's nothing 
 in the world to think of but the hounds. No ! 
 but I'll answer for it that whatever you ask her, 
 she'll not refuse it."
 
 296 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 John Michael got up without making any 
 reply and went over to the sofa where Reveller 
 lay. He stood with his back to his mother, 
 looking down at the sick hound in silence. 
 Reveller acknowledged his presence with that 
 little movement of the hind leg that was the 
 nearest he could go to a salutation. Through 
 the perturbation of John Michael's thoughts 
 went the assurance that the puppy was better. 
 
 " It's nearly time for him to have something 
 more," he said. 
 
 His mother got up and came over to him. 
 "Ah, Johnny," she exclaimed, putting her hand 
 on his shoulder. " What sort of a man are you 
 at all ? Isn't it plain enough what I'm telling 
 you ? Why can't you ask her to marry you ? 
 As sure as I'm standing here she'd take you. 
 She as good as told me so ! " 
 
 Her son shook her hand off, and for the 
 first time in their joint lives he turned on her 
 in anger. 
 
 •' I'm — I'm surprised that you'd say such 
 a thing," he hesitated and stammered, because 
 he was not in the habit of being angry, violently 
 angry, and, in any case, was possessed of a 
 limited vocabulary. " And to say a dirty low 
 thing like that about a lady " 
 
 " And what harm have 1 said ? " interrupted
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 297 
 
 his mother, stung to quick wrath. " I've said 
 no more than what's the truth ! Why shouldn't 
 she hke you ? If you were any good at all 
 you'd ask her yourself and she'd tell you fast 
 enough ! " 
 
 " Well, I won't ask her," saidjjohn Michael, 
 as loudly as she. 
 
 He made for the door. 
 
 "And it's a damned shame for you to talk 
 like that. I don't want her any more than she 
 wants me ! " He stopped, holding the edge of 
 the door in his hand, with the darkness and 
 stillness of the house before him. " I'd hate 
 to be married. I'd sooner sweep a kennel in 
 America ! " 
 
 The name fell like a sword, severing his life 
 from his mother's. 
 
 He passed out into the dark. His room 
 was at the end of the passage, and he groped 
 his way to it, hot with anger. Behind him, 
 near the other end of the passage, an inter- 
 mittent flicker of firelicfht showed at the crack 
 of a door that was slightly ajar, the spare-room 
 door, whose lock the carpenter could not find 
 time to repair, even under the most stimulating 
 and exacting circumstances. 
 
 After John Michael had left her Mrs. Fitz- 
 Symons sat down again by the table, and was
 
 298 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 very quiet for a few minutes, with her hand 
 over her eyes. Some stir from Reveller 
 aroused her attention ; she got up and gave 
 him the milk and brandy that, in their common- 
 place, humble, tangible way, had driven back 
 the King of Mystery. 
 
 Still kneeling beside Reveller, she broke 
 down suddenly. 
 
 *' What good is it for you now to get 
 well ? " she cried, " my poor puppy ! My poor 
 puppy ! " 
 
 Reveller was dully aware of warm drops 
 falling on his side.
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 MRS. MASTERMAN set forth from 
 Lake View at half-past ten o'clock 
 next morning in a covered car, with 
 a selection from Katharine's wardrobe, and a 
 heart filled with legitimate indignation. Having 
 on the previous evening endured considerable 
 anxiety, and held back dinner until nine o'clock, 
 and having then, as she said, fed upon cinders, 
 the usual wrathful reaction had occurred, and 
 she had spent what remained of the evening in 
 formulating an ultimatum to Miss Rowan. 
 
 The covered car swung and bounced in the 
 ruts with the unexpected levity of its race, and 
 Katharine's dressing-box glissaded on the seat 
 opposite to her, and smote her in the knees 
 with human and malign intelligence at any 
 moment that it found her off her guard. After 
 the storm the air was keen and gay, and the 
 sun shone sharply in the purged atmosphere. 
 The road that she looked out upon through the 
 black leather curtains had been scarified by 
 
 29y
 
 300 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 flood and tempest down to Its stony sole ; the 
 loosened streams still flowed over it, and here 
 and there men were putting sods of grass on 
 the roofs of their houses, to act as stop-gaps 
 where the slates had been blown away. 
 
 In Mrs. Masterman's pocket was a letter 
 from Ulick Adare, received that morning; an 
 entertaining, agreeable letter, that had, never- 
 theless, entirely failed to entertain her. It 
 bore the Paris postmark, and conveyed, with 
 apparent satisfaction, the information that a 
 man had asked him to shoot woodcock in 
 Albania ; the man had a yacht, which was now 
 at Genoa, and he, Ulick, was going to turn a 
 little money by telling lies about the show for 
 a London weekly paper. He hoped, with fault- 
 less propriety, that Miss Rowan and Dermot 
 were enjoying themselves, and he imparted to 
 Mrs. Masterman some of the newest side-lights 
 upon people and politics, because, as he re- 
 minded her, she had always told him that all 
 the scandal that was worth hearing came from 
 men's clubs. Jean Masterman drew forth the 
 letter, and re-read it in snatches, as the bound- 
 ing of the inside-car permitted, and said to 
 herself, not for the first time, that what Katha- 
 rine wanted was a good shaking. A specially 
 exasperating feature was that she had no exact
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 301 
 
 idea of how matters stood between any of them. 
 Reserve was, no doubt, an admirable quaHty, 
 theoretically, and in its proper place ; but, as is 
 not infrequent, Mrs. Masterman found that 
 where she was concerned it was quite inappro- 
 priate. 
 
 But facts, at all events, spoke for them- 
 selves. Here was Ullck, careering to Genoa, 
 and to Albania, a place that, as far as she was 
 concerned, existed merely to provide costumes 
 for fancy dress balls ; and here, also, was 
 Katharine, buried in the inmost heart of the 
 unspeakable Fitz-Symons establishment, not 
 only ignoring its unspeakableness, but pro- 
 bably enjoying every moment of it. At this 
 point the covered-car pulled up with an ab- 
 ruptness suggestive of having banged into a 
 wall, and through the little window in front 
 she saw her driver descending to open the 
 gates of Ashgrove. It gave a terrible reality 
 to everything ; it was like going to visit Katha- 
 rine at her home. 
 
 " How she can think twice of that fox- 
 hunting yokel," she thought, as the horse, 
 and his partner and plagiarist, the inside car, 
 cantered in unison up the narrow avenue, 
 >" whose solitary means of expression is to blow 
 a horn ! " She was rather taken with this idea,
 
 302 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 and placed it on a mental shelf for develop- 
 ment in her next letter to Ulick Adare. He 
 was a person to whom it was easy to write 
 letters ; he stimulated, and he also understood. 
 But what a score for the Fitz-Symons family ! 
 She pictured to herself the odious sleekness of 
 the master of the house, the exultation of its 
 mistress, and of John Michael — No ! it was im- 
 possible to conceive of poor Dumb Crambo as 
 being exultant about anything, except, perhaps, 
 killing a fox ! She would do him that justice. 
 Nevertheless, he could not but perceive the 
 preposterous homage offered to him by that 
 double-dyed idiot, Katharine, and no doubt by 
 this time he had awakened to his oppor- 
 tunities. 
 
 Here the hall door was opened to her by 
 Mary, capless, and wearing an apron whose 
 complexion indicated that it had seen moving 
 accidents by flood and field, specially by flood. 
 Mrs. Masterman thought that it took its place 
 in the general situation. The mistress was in, 
 Mary informed her, and Miss Rowan was above 
 in her room, she didn't rise out of the bed yet. 
 Mrs. Masterman waited in the drawing-room, 
 and the drawing-room, and its furniture and 
 adornments, seen in the cold sunlight of the 
 December morning, and enhanced by the first
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 303 
 
 flight of Christmas cards, made the situation 
 more crushing than ever. 
 
 Mary returned. The mistress was very 
 sorry, but she was engaged for a few minutes 
 minding the dog. 
 
 " That's the hound that was poisoned, 
 Ma'am," supplemented the envoy, and would 
 Mrs. Masterman go up and see Miss Rowan ? 
 Mrs. Masterman acceded to the request, and in 
 the hall came suddenly face to face with John 
 Michael ; he had a bowl in one hand, and in 
 the other was a saucer with an egg upon it : 
 he looked, she thought, as if he was taking part 
 in a competition at a Gymkhana. In the 
 shock of the encounter the egg rushed round 
 and round the saucer as though trying to 
 escape ; a similar emotion obviously agitated 
 its bearer, and Jean Masterman, unwillingly, 
 pitied him, as women were wont to pity John 
 Michael in social aspects. 
 
 " I'm sorry to hear that you have an 
 invalid hound to look after," she said, with 
 more civility than she had intended to 
 show. 
 
 " He's a lot better to-day," stammered John 
 Michael, backing out of her patli. 
 
 "I've come to fetch Miss Rowan," con- 
 tinued Jean, looking at him with an expression
 
 304 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 armoured with pleasantness and conven- 
 tionality. 
 
 At the word the egg sprang over the edge 
 of the saucer, and fell to the oilcloth, never to 
 rise again. 
 
 Jean Masterman, murmuring sympathies, 
 passed on, with darkness in her heart, her 
 worst fears confirmed. 
 
 " Well, my dear," she began, with a well- 
 compounded mixture of sarcasm and amuse- 
 ment, as she crossed the threshold of 
 Katharine's room, ** you have indeed drained 
 the cup of pleasure to the dregs." Even as 
 she spoke, something prostrate and beaten in 
 Katharine's aspect startled her. " And I can't 
 say you look as if it had agreed with you ! " 
 
 " I am rather tired, that's all," said 
 Katharine, with a pale effort at defiance. She 
 felt the tone exactly as it was intended she 
 should feel it. 
 
 Mrs. Masterman advanced, tall and pleasing 
 to look at in her long fur coat, taking in 
 Katharine with her observant, trusty eyes ; the 
 faint scent, that Katharine knew so well, con- 
 veying its wonted association as she stooped 
 over and kissed her. As her soft cheek 
 touched Katharine's, Jean Masterman's kind- 
 ness asserted itself.
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 305 
 
 "You wretched child!" she murmured, 
 " what have you been doing to yourself ? " 
 
 Katharine was suddenly overwhelmed by a 
 feeling that she was going to break down. 
 
 " Don't, Jean," she said, turning away her 
 face, " don't be nice to me or, or " 
 
 Jean Masterman made as though she had 
 not heard. She sat down on a small and 
 decrepit chair, of the variety that becomes 
 decrepit in early middle life ; it gave a per- 
 ceptible stagger, and Mrs. Masterman rose 
 hastily to her feet. 
 
 *• Don't tell Mrs. Fitz-Symons that I broke 
 it ! " She sat down on the side of the bed. 
 "This, I presume, is Mrs. Fitz-Symons' tea 
 gown ? " She picked up the garment in 
 question and held it up by a voluminous and 
 dumpy sleeve. " You wore it at dinner, no 
 doubt .'* I am sure it suited Madam to 
 perfection ! " 
 
 While she talked she wondered what had 
 happened. She had often seen Katharine 
 tired, and she had once or twice seen her ill, 
 but she had never before seen her vanquished. 
 
 " I'm quite ready to go home, you know," 
 said Katharine, recovering herself. 
 
 " I've brought you some tilings,'' said Mrs. 
 Masterman ; " I thought that probably neither
 
 3o6 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 you nor your habit would be fit for publication 
 to-day." 
 
 " I don't think I'm going to ride again for 
 some time," said Katharine in a level voice, 
 " my back feels rather done for." 
 
 " Your back ? " said Mrs. Masterman, 
 quickly. " Did you strain it yesterday ?" 
 
 " Well, not exactly," said Katharine, with 
 hesitation ; " it's where I felt it after that fall 
 — as if I had a hundredweight of lead on my 
 shoulders." 
 
 Jean Masterman was not a woman given to 
 the use of strong language, but in her heart 
 she said with excommunicatory fervour, " Damn 
 hunting ! " 
 
 To Katharine she said airily, " My good 
 child, that doesn't surprise me in the least! It 
 is the inevitable result of overdoing every- 
 thing, as you always do ! " 
 
 She covertly glanced at Katharine's colour- 
 less face and the darkness under her eyes. 
 
 " You weren't fit for such a long day ; no 
 more hunting for you for the present, my 
 young friend ! " 
 
 ** You need not distress yourself about my 
 hunting," said Katharine. " There's not going 
 to be any more hunting here. The hounds 
 are to be given up."
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 307 
 
 Mrs. Masterman found her exultation more 
 difficult to conceal than the anxiety that it 
 overlaid. 
 
 " When was that decided on } " she 
 asked. 
 
 " Last night, I believe," said Katharine, 
 restlessly sweeping back the hair from her 
 forehead. " There has been poisoning — and 
 rows — it's a long story " 
 
 " Rather a blow for this establishment, 
 isn't it ? " said Jean Masterman, moving to- 
 wards the window, and idly noting a dingy old 
 hound, standing on three legs and scratching 
 its ribs with the fourth. " I can imagine that 
 the senior partner will survive it, but what 
 will the junior member of the firm think of 
 it!" 
 
 " He's going to America," said Katha- 
 rine. 
 
 In her surprise, and, it must be added, her 
 heartfelt satisfaction, Mrs. Masterman turned 
 and looked at Katharine. She saw a slow 
 tide of colour creep gradually up her face till it 
 met the bright wing of hair that lay on her 
 forehead. " Oh, my poor Katharine ! " she 
 thought, with a pang of dismay; "can it 
 possibly be as bad as that ! " 
 
 Then her own ineradicable point of view
 
 3o8 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 asserted itself in her mind. She thought of 
 Adare's letter in her pocket, and said to 
 herself — 
 
 " Whatever her method may be, she cer- 
 tainly has the gift of scattering them."
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 MRS. DELANTY, as was frequently 
 the case, was not pleased with old 
 Mahony, the smith, and early on 
 the morning following the hunt, she proceeded 
 to the forge on her bicycle with the intention 
 of telling him so. 
 
 She was now standing in the doorway of 
 the forge, watching, with alert eyes, the opera- 
 tion of shoeing her bay mare. 
 
 " Now, Mahony," she said sharply, " put 
 down that rasp. The mare's feet are well 
 enough as God made them." 
 
 "I'm thinking there wasn't much talk of 
 hunting-shoes that time," said the smith, Hing- 
 ing down the rasp, " a quarc way you'd look at 
 me when she was after coming in with an over- 
 reach ! " 
 
 " That's no reason you should take the toes 
 off her ! " returned the widow, breaking with 
 zest the accustomed spear with old Mahony, 
 " and mind now you don't go squeezing her 
 heels. I declare there isn't one of you smiths 
 
 309
 
 310 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 but would give a horse a foot like a mule for 
 the sake of three ha'porth of iron ! Look at 
 the show you made of her the last time you 
 shod her ! " 
 
 "Sure, my God, ma'am, it wasn't myself 
 shod her at all last month," replied the smith, 
 indignantly, looking up at her over the enormous 
 horn-rimmed spectacles that he wore. " It 
 was Willy here med them shoes. 'Twas that 
 was the time I had the 'fluenzy. I hadn't the 
 first shoe of them fairly made when I felt me 
 heart scattering in me body with the wakeness. 
 Captain Bolger was looking at me the same 
 time. * Throw the shoe from you,' says he, 
 'and go home,' says he ; 'take all that's in the 
 house and put it on you,' says he, ' you're sick,' 
 says he, ' and dam sick ! ' I wrought in the 
 bed for three days, and I declare to you, afther 
 leaving the bed, if it was no more than the 
 frivolity of putting on me little gansey, I'd be 
 in a passpiration with the dint of it." 
 
 "You must have been in a poor way 
 enough," commented Mrs. Delanty, politely. 
 " Well ! we'll say no more about Willy's shoes, 
 but be careful now and don't put a mule's foot 
 on her to-day." 
 
 Old Mahony advanced to the hearth. 
 " Fire, boy ! " he commanded his acolyte,
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 311 
 
 thrusting into the reddening cinders the shoe 
 that he had been fitting. 
 
 '* By all I can hear," he resumed, " a mule 
 might be able for as much hunting as there'll 
 be in the country from this out." 
 
 Mrs. Delanty laughed lightly. " You're a 
 great man to get the news, Mahony. But 
 maybe you didn't get the whole of it this 
 time." 
 
 " Maybe not indeed," returned Mahony, 
 with his air of the wearied philosopher. " I 
 got as much as I wanted anyway. It's bad 
 news for a smith when hounds go out of the 
 country." 
 
 " Who told you they were going out of the 
 country?" said Mrs. Delanty, leaning easily 
 against the door-post, her hands in her coat 
 pockets, and her hair a little blown by the wind 
 over her white forehead. Her eyes were full 
 of mischief and superior knowledge ; she thought 
 it would do old Mahony no harm to get a bit 
 of a fright. 
 
 " What'll you smiths, and the farmers, do 
 when we're all driving motor-cars ? " she said, 
 with her staccato accent at its pertcst and most 
 flippant. " I suppose you'll tell me you'll have 
 the Old Age Pension ! Maybe you have it 
 this minute ! "
 
 312 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 " Why then there's plenty that has it that 
 wants it less," returned Mahony, quite unmoved 
 by the reflection upon his age, " and I might 
 have as good a right to it as some o' them ! 
 There was a man told me he was afther getting 
 it, and he no more than the one age with me- 
 self. What did he do but to get an owld Alibi 
 down from the mountain, and himself went 
 away out of the place for that day." 
 
 ** I suppose he had good friends on the 
 Committee ? " said the widow, affably. 
 
 The bay mare was tired and drowsy, and 
 her head had nodded to her knees ; she lifted it 
 suddenly and pricked her ears. Mrs. Delanty 
 glanced up the road and saw a couple of horses 
 coming towards her down the hill. Tom Coyne 
 was riding one and leading the other, the 
 grey mare who had so casually and so effectively 
 made her entrance into Katharine's career. 
 
 Tom Coyne was very silent. He did not 
 attempt to meet Mrs. Delanty's skilled and 
 highly critical observations on his horses ; he 
 did not even try to explain how he had missed 
 the finish of the run. Mrs. Delanty decided 
 that he was in low spirits about the hounds, 
 and made up her mind that Gus had probably 
 given him " the sack," and that she would make 
 Fanshawe take him on.
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 313 
 
 The old smith regarded him darkly from 
 under his grey eyebrows, said conventionally 
 that it was a fine day, and went on fashioning 
 in silence the shoe for the bay mare. Under 
 the disastrous circumstances good breeding 
 forbade that he should be the first to open the 
 topic that was uppermost in interest. More- 
 over, such a matter as the poisoning of hounds 
 was one to be approached with caution, 
 especially in mixed company. It belonged to 
 the nether side of things, a side with ramifica- 
 tions fraught with possible danger, and not one 
 to be lightly introduced by a servant of the 
 public. 
 
 " How is Reveller to-day, Tom ? " went on 
 Mrs. Delanty. " I hope you're going to pull 
 him through ?" 
 
 " He's nearly better ; I think he'll do now, 
 Ma'am," returned Tom Coyne, listlessly. 
 
 " Ah, poor Sindbad and Fantasy ! " said 
 Mrs. Delanty. " I was sorry to my heart for 
 them. There was nothing could be done 
 for them. I saw that from the first. Mr. 
 Fanshawe wanted to gallop for Mr. Jagoe, but 
 I told him there wasn't a vet. in Ireland that 
 could save them. Brieshka didn't spare the 
 strychnine." 
 
 "That the divil in hell mightn't spare
 
 314 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 fire to him," said Tom Coyne, with intense 
 concentration, as he adjusted his stirrup 
 leather. 
 
 The smith, with the mare's hind foot in his 
 lap, and his mouth full of nails, muttered 
 something that might or might not have been 
 '' Amen." 
 
 " The Master is after summonsing him for 
 an assault," went on Tom Coyne, *'but what 
 good is that when they're all to be done away 
 with ? Master Johnny was going round them 
 in the kennels with me this morning. 'Tom,' 
 he says, ' I'll never throw them into a covert 
 again,' and the tears rained from his eyes." 
 
 " No blame to him," said the smith. 
 
 A quick moisture of sympathy shone in 
 Mrs. Delanty's dark eyes. 
 
 "They're not gone yet, Tom," she said 
 hastily, with her emotion in her voice ; " he 
 might show us sport with them yet." 
 
 " He'll show no more sport in this country," 
 said Tom Coyne heavily, yet upheld by the 
 greatness of his tidings. " He's after telling 
 me he's going to America." 
 
 The nails dropped from the smith's mouth, 
 and Mrs. Delanty's groom, hitherto silent in 
 the numbing presence of his mistress, said, 
 "For God's sake!"
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 315 
 
 The remarkable thing was that Mrs. 
 Delanty said nothing. With one hand on the 
 door-post, she stared at Tom Coyne, with her 
 lips parted and her delicate brows knitted as if 
 in the effort to comprehend. 
 
 The smith took up his parable. " As nice 
 a young man, and as dacent a young man as 
 ever stood in the Barony. There wasn't one 
 in the counthry but had a good word for him. 
 I knew him since he was the height o' me 
 hammer, puckin' round the counthry on a 
 dunky, and I knew his father before him ; I'm 
 shoeing horses for them, seed and breed, for 
 fifty year, and I declare to God, if I had a 
 silver shoe in my hand, I wouldn't grudge it to 
 put it on his mare this minute." 
 
 To this obituary oration Tom Coyne listened 
 in dignified acquiescence, as became a repre- 
 sentative of the family, besides which, the fixity 
 of Mrs. Dclanty's gaze at him was attracting 
 his attention. 
 
 " Do you say he told you he was going to 
 America?" she asked, in a voice that seemed 
 to be drained dry, like a little roadside rivulet 
 in drouglit. 
 
 " I Ic did, ma'am. He said he had a situa- 
 tion offered him there, and he'd be out of this 
 in a month."
 
 3i6 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 Tom Coyne felt that the zenith of tidings 
 had been attained, and artistically ceased. 
 
 Mrs. Delanty was silent, but Tom Coyne 
 knew that his news had had a reception worthy 
 of its magnitude. 
 
 Mrs. Delanty took her bicycle from where 
 it leaned against the white-washed wall of the 
 forge, and walked away rapidly up the hill, 
 wheeling it beside her, in the opposite direction 
 from her home. Her stable-boy, Danny, went 
 to the door of the forge and watched her. 
 
 The smith said in a low voice to Tom 
 Coyne, " That hit her, begob." 
 
 " She had a wish for him always," returned 
 Tom Coyne in a swift whisper. 
 
 Danny came back from his observations. 
 "It's the turn for Ashgrove she's taken," he 
 said with some excitement. 
 
 The smith disliked all stable boys on prin- 
 ciple. 
 
 " Throw me here that rasp," he said, re- 
 pressively, and proceeded, as it were absently, 
 to use it on the mare's hind foot. 
 
 Mrs. Delanty walked fast up the hill, be- 
 cause the shock was driving her before it. The 
 December sunshine struck her cheek with a 
 faint warmth, and cast her trim shadow before 
 her on the road. Johnny was going, Johnny
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 317 
 
 was leaving the country ! It was as though a 
 clanging bell were telling her this incessantly, 
 hammering it in, banging it in. Why should 
 he go away because a couple of hounds were 
 poisoned ? Tom Coyne said he had got a 
 situation in America ; why couldn't he get a 
 situation here ? Was it something about Miss 
 Rowan ? 
 
 Here she turned up the by-road that was 
 the short way to Ashgrove, a bad road for a 
 bicycle, as she well knew, but it would be 
 better farther on. She must see Johnny at 
 once, before he went on with this mad plan of 
 going away to America. Had Miss Rowan 
 refused him ? Was that why he was going ? 
 No ! she hadn't done that ! It was enough to 
 have seen her face last night, when they were 
 at tea together in that cottage, to know that 
 she was only ready to jump at him. With her 
 money and all, he wouldn't be bothered with 
 that big lump of a Scotchwoman, or whatever 
 she was ! He'd sooner go to America ! 
 
 Then Johnny's eyes when they had met 
 her's, and she was telling him about the poison. 
 He had not looked at her like that, like a hurt 
 child that wanted her to help him, since the 
 day that his mare broke her back jumping at 
 the Agricultural Show, and she had run back
 
 3i8 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 into the town for the gun for the vet. to shoot 
 her with. They were great friends after that. 
 That was the first autumn after she came to 
 the country, and she used to get up early and 
 go out cubbing with him, and he told her once 
 she was the only lady he ever knew he'd trust 
 to watch the end of a covert. It was his old 
 mother that interfered that time, and frightened 
 him ; she knew that very well. She could have 
 had Gus, too, hopping, that first year; she 
 wished she had, if it was only to spite the 
 mother; it was she put Gus against her too. 
 Well — Johnny wouldn't stay at home now to 
 please his mother. She found that some tears 
 were running down her face ; the knot tightened 
 in her throat. Maybe — she stood still — maybe 
 she herself had something to say to him that 
 would make him change his mind ! 
 
 She leaned heavily on her bicycle ; it had 
 been heavy work pushing it up the steep lane. 
 She had excellent wind (though her friends 
 were wont to put up their eyebrows about the 
 smallness of her waist), but her breath was 
 coming hard and short. The lane had carried 
 her high along the hillside (that hill from 
 which Katharine had seen the spike of File- 
 na-Showk), and up there in the sunshine with 
 the thin wind snatching at her hair and cooling
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 319 
 
 her hot face, she herself was Hfted above her 
 little life of calculations and economies. Her 
 resolve gathered strength ; the thing that might 
 be, became the thing that should be. 
 
 She had turned from the lane, and its stones 
 and water- courses, into one of the old " Famine 
 Roads," made to give employment, not to be 
 employed ; the grass that covered it was short 
 and smooth ; there were no ruts in it, nothing 
 except the fresh hoof marks of the two Ash- 
 grove horses. She mounted her bicycle and 
 rode on determinedly against the gradual up- 
 ward slope. She must get back again in time 
 for lunch. Fanshawe would be arriving, and 
 if she were not back to meet him, Janetta would 
 have a fit. Fanshawe's face rose before her ; 
 his slow, amorous gazes, his large, stupid nose, 
 his amiable, babyish mouth. She suddenly felt 
 as if she could not stand Fanshawe. She was 
 tired of him and his love-making ; more than 
 that, she was beginning to suspect him of a 
 precocious capacity in the matter of not com- 
 mitting himself. 
 
 " All men are like that, old or young ! " she 
 thought angrily, " carry on as long and as far 
 as you'll let them, and then away with them ! 
 He'll find that that may do for some, but it'll 
 not do for me ! "
 
 320 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 She was up on the ridge of the hill now ; 
 the last pinch had been steep, and she got off 
 her bicycle to rest for a moment. Below her 
 were the trees of Ashgrove, brown and purple 
 among the pale meadows. Nearer to her than 
 they were, stretched the long red roof of the 
 Kennels ; she could see the kennel-yards, she 
 could even see in them the white specks that 
 were the hounds, lying out in the sun. A thin 
 blue smoke, coming from the chimney, created 
 its inevitable effect of tranquillity. For her, 
 the familiar picture shook in the tremor of her 
 purpose. 
 
 On the grassy track in front of her lay a 
 drift of white feathers, telling where Dan 
 Russel the Fox had yet again, in his master- 
 ful way, left his mark upon the lives of others.
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 JOHN MICHAEL had been very angry 
 with his mother, and his wrath still 
 simmered, like the porridge that he was 
 stirring. He was standing on a box beside the 
 kennel-boiler, slowly and strenuously working 
 a long-handled shovel round and round in the 
 thick, sallow mass that steamed and seethed, 
 and heaved up sluggish bubbles, that swelled 
 and broke with a sound like the gabbling and 
 chuckling of fat people. He was angry with 
 his mother because she had said what she had 
 no right to say about Miss Rowan; rotten 
 nonsense, he summarized it, as he levered the 
 shovel round against the edge of the boiler ; 
 he was also angry with her because she was 
 ever and always bothering the life out of him 
 about getting married. Well — she wouldn't 
 be able to botlier him long. That was the 
 worst of it. John Michael loved his mother, 
 not as much as she loved him, for there is no 
 son living who loves his mother as he is loved 
 by her, but she comprised for him the world 
 Y 321
 
 322 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 of home and affection, and he hated leaving 
 her. Besides he knew, and no one except 
 herself knew better than he, what his going 
 away would mean to her. 
 
 It hurt very badly as he thought of it, 
 with the compassion that is part of the son's 
 love, because he knows his mother's need 
 to be greater than his own, but everything 
 hurt to-day. The face of old Rachel, as she 
 had looked up at him that morning with the 
 beautiful glance of confidence and adoration 
 that only a dog can give ; Lottery's long 
 chestnut nose, with its crooked blaze, over the 
 stable door, as she banged at it with her knee 
 in demand for his attention, tired and all as she 
 was, he thought, after her big day ; even the 
 lamentations of the kennel-boy's mother, de- 
 livered to him through the bars of the kennel- 
 yard, were all foretastes of what good-bye was 
 going to be. He stirred harder than ever, 
 and braced himself with the thought of escape 
 from Gus. Gus had said things to him last 
 night that no one could stand. John Michael 
 was a pacific fellow, not given to resentment, 
 or perceptive of affronts, but when a quiet 
 nature is wounded it is not easily healed. 
 
 A hound or two bayed languidly and fret- 
 fully in the yard, there was a light step outside,
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 323 
 
 and the low doorway of the feeding house 
 was darkened. John Michael looked down 
 from his perch beside the boiler, and saw Mrs. 
 Delanty standing there. 
 
 ** Good morning, Johnny," she said, and it 
 struck him that she must have come fast, 
 because she seemed to be out of breath. " I 
 wanted to know how Reveller was, and I just 
 bicycled over." 
 
 " Thank you very much," said John 
 Michael, gratefully, " I think he's all right. 
 He was near dying last night, but we got at 
 him in time." 
 
 He continued his laborious circuiting of the 
 boiler with the shovel, as he spoke ; his coat 
 was off and his shirt sleeves were rolled up ; 
 the action of his arms and shoulders was 
 rhythmic and powerful, and strangely graceful. 
 
 " You'll excuse me going on with the 
 pudding, it's just finished." 
 
 " Well, thank goodness, we saved him any- 
 way ! " said Mrs. Delanty, moving a step for- 
 ward and looking up at him. " I was doctoring 
 at him for half an hour yesterday morning." 
 
 " I'm greatly obliged to you for what you 
 did," he said, stopping for a moment and 
 leaning on the handle of his stirrer ; " only for 
 you he was lost."
 
 324 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 As she looked up at him he saw that her 
 face was white and her eyes were shining. 
 
 " Johnny ! " she said hurriedly, " is it pos- 
 sible that it's true what I hear, that you're 
 going" to America ? " 
 
 " It's true right enough," he said shortly. 
 He descended from the box, and proceeded to 
 rake out what was left of the fire, with his 
 usual thoroughness and attention to detail. 
 ** I don't want the pudding to burn," he said 
 apologetically. 
 
 She waited until he had finished, enduring 
 the noise and the delay as best she might. 
 " Johnny," she began again, speaking rapidly 
 and jerkily, " I know for a fact that Basil 
 Fanshawe's going to buy the hounds " 
 
 John Michael looked at her quickly. " Well, 
 so he can," he said, after a moment's pause. 
 " It's the first I heard of it." 
 
 " I'm the only one that knows it," said the 
 widow, displaying through all the stress of 
 emotion her sense of commanding importance, 
 " and you're the only one that I've told it 
 to." 
 
 " It'd be more use to tell it to Gus," said 
 John Michael, ignoring the compliment, "they're 
 his hounds." 
 
 " Sure, of course, I know Gus will sell
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 325 
 
 them to him, and be only delighted," said the 
 widow, impatiently. 
 
 She came nearer to him. " But what 
 would hounds be in this country without you, 
 Johnny? " 
 
 John Michael recoiled almost visibly before 
 the personal appeal. 
 
 " Fanshawe can get plenty of huntsmen as 
 good as me and better," he said. 
 
 " That's a lie, and you know it ! " said the 
 widow, vehemently. " It's you he wants, and 
 no one else ! " 
 
 John Michael's heart gave a throb or two, 
 but he maintained a steadfast countenance. 
 Suspicion, reasonless and deep, like that of 
 a woodland animal, kept him silent. 
 
 " I told him he'd never get on with the 
 people here without you, let alone the hunting 
 itself; you maybe sure I made him understand 
 that," went on Mrs. Delanty, erecting as it 
 were the dais on which she would present 
 herself to John Michael as his patron-saint. 
 
 He did not answer at first ; he could make 
 an instant decision on a rough hillside, with 
 hounds at fault, and the VIM in twenty wrong 
 places at once, but in the ordinary affairs of 
 life his mind moved slowly and without self- 
 reliance.
 
 326 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 " Did he ask you to speak to me ? " he said 
 at length. 
 
 " He — he didn't exactly say the word — we 
 were talking the whole thing over, riding home 
 last night. He was asking my advice ; he was 
 
 only anxious to do whatever I suggested " 
 
 She looked at him as if her caressing eyes 
 should complete her meaning. " I will do 
 anything for you, and he will do anything for 
 me," was what they tried to say. 
 
 John Michael slowly. and deliberately laid 
 down the iron rod with which he had been 
 raking out his fire. 
 
 " I'd sooner he'd speak to me himself," he 
 said uncomfortably. 
 
 " It's the same thing," she broke in, putting 
 her shaking hand on the edge of the cooler to 
 steady herself, " he'll do whatever I say — you'll 
 be as good as your own master, and you'll get 
 a good screw into the bargain ! I'll see to that ! 
 Oh, Johnny! You mustn't go! You and me 
 would run the whole show between us ! " 
 
 Her cheeks were hot and her voice was 
 changed and wavering. 
 
 " It'd be like old times when we were 
 friends first ! " 
 
 John Michael was aware of a pang ap- 
 proaching to physical terror, and, by some 
 
 \
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 327 
 
 sub-connection of ideas, saw before his eyes an 
 ornate cigarette case, bestowed upon him four 
 Christmases ago by Mrs. Delanty, and never 
 since revealed to human eye, an object at once 
 abhorrent and alarming to him. 
 
 " Thank you," he said hurriedly, " I don't 
 think that would do very well." He under- 
 stood with sudden illumination what it would 
 mean. Lily Delanty to boss the hounds. Lily 
 Delanty to arrange the meets ; to say Go here, 
 or Go there, or even Go home ! " Thank 
 you,'" he repeated, " I think I'd do better to go 
 to America." He held his head back, with his 
 chin in the air, like a shy, handsome schoolboy, 
 and turned half away from her. 
 
 She suddenly caught his arm with both her 
 hands, and put her hot forehead against his 
 shoulder. 
 
 " Johnny ! " she cried, beginning to sob, 
 " wouldn't you stay for my sake ? Don't you 
 know how fond I am of you ? " 
 
 What more she said neither she nor Jolin 
 Michael can ever clearly remember, nor do 
 they desire to do so, but in that insane moment 
 of surrender and sclf-forgetfulness, the small, 
 second-rate, egotistical soul of Mrs. Delanty 
 found wings, and spread them in a larger air. 
 
 It was over in an instant, and she knew
 
 328 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 that she had failed, that she had given herself 
 away for nothing. They were standing oppo- 
 site to each other in suffocating tension and 
 embarrassment. The widow was the first to 
 pull herself together. 
 
 " You needn't look so frightened ! " she said, 
 in furious sarcasm, dashing away her tears, 
 " I'm going!" 
 
 He stood motionless, till the beat of her 
 speeding step had died. Then, with weakened 
 knees, he feebly scrambled on to the box by 
 the boiler, and picked up the shovel again. 
 The boiler was still very hot, and the " pudding " 
 was in need of being stirred. 
 
 " Oh, my goodness ! " said this serious and 
 unsentimental son of the South-west, as he 
 painstakingly dragged the shovel round and 
 round. " That was awful 1 "
 
 CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 MISS JANETTASCANLAN'Sbest 
 dress was by no means what it had 
 been at the beginning of the hunt- 
 ing season. Luncheons, teas, even dinners, 
 had exacted its appearance with a frequency 
 undreamed of during any of its previous in- 
 carnations ; (the first of which, it may not be 
 out of place to mention, had been the funeral 
 of her late brother-in-law, Delanty). She 
 liked Mr. Fanshawe, who had now arrived at 
 the stage of calling her " Miss Janetta," and 
 of chaffing her heavily, and with enormous 
 success ; but when it came to playing the dual 
 part of cook and chaperon three times a week, 
 and more, she said to herself that Lily was 
 spending a deal too much on him, and that the 
 butcher's book was " a fright." None the less 
 she continued, unmurmuring, unquestioning, 
 to prepare repasts f(;r him, nor did it seem 
 remarkable to her to spend her mornings in 
 concocting and setting forth savoury meats, 
 
 329
 
 330 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 that were eaten without comment, before her 
 anxious eyes, in less than five minutes. 
 
 She was sitting in the kitchen on the 
 morning after the hunt, trying to extract 
 counsel and comfort from an erudite article 
 on " Lady-like Luncheons" in a weekly paper, 
 when Kate entered with an egg in her hand. 
 
 " That's all that's in it, Miss, and where was 
 it only within in the donkey's house ! I got it 
 inside in the major. How cozy she laid it 
 there the way I wouldn't get it ! " 
 
 " It was the grey hen, I suppose," said 
 Miss Janetta, abstractedly ; she knew that 
 Kate was alluding to the manger, but what 
 " Maitre d'hotel " might mean was a problem 
 beyond her. Lily would know. 
 
 "Is the mistress outside?" she asked. 
 "Did she come back from the forge yet ? " 
 
 " She did not, Miss," said Kate. 
 
 " Bother her ! " replied Miss Janetta, 
 abandoning the Lady-like Luncheon and falling 
 back upon cutlets. 
 
 It was then twelve o'clock; in the small 
 yet critical labours of the kitchen the time 
 passed swiftly, each minute more piercingly 
 flavoured by the naked and repellent raw 
 onion. Miss Scanlan had arrived at the stage 
 of cutting out paper frills for the cutlets, as if
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 331 
 
 she were making clothes for a doll, when the 
 well-known drumming of the motor smote 
 upon her ear. 
 
 " Well, never welcome him ! " said Miss 
 Janetta, " and me not dressed ! Under heaven 
 what's keeping Lily I don't know ! " 
 
 Fanshawe sat alone in the drawing-room 
 and tried to be patient. The little room was 
 very familiar to him now, and in itself, with its 
 tender memories of cigarettes over the fire, and 
 of tcte-d-tete hunting-teas, it gave him a sense 
 of ease and of welcome, and even of home. 
 He sprawled in the chair that he now looked 
 upon as his own, and stretched his long legs 
 towards the fender, and studied the dramati- 
 cally wistful photograph of Mrs. Delanty in 
 eveninof dress, that stood on the table beside 
 him. He mused over the depth of her eyes, 
 he lingered over the soft line of her throat, he 
 smiled to himself in adoration of the delicate 
 droop of the lips that chaffed him, that were 
 gracious to him, but that had always, hitherto, 
 been unattainable. 
 
 He felt very much in love, and strode to 
 the window, and stared down towards the 
 white gate to catch the first glimpse of her, 
 and thought that it was heartless of her to be 
 out, when she knew he was coming over and
 
 332 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 had so much to say to her. Hang it! if he 
 only knew where she was he'd go and meet 
 her. He walked back to the fireplace and 
 regarded the photograph of the late Delanty 
 that hung in the place of honour over the 
 chimneypiece. He had many times regarded 
 it with dislike and curiosity, and he thought, 
 as he had often thought before, that he looked 
 like a fat actor, and remembered how old 
 Bolger, in answer to his enquiries, had described 
 Mr. Delanty's appearance as " a cross between 
 an undertaker and a chimney-sweep, with a 
 dash of the corner-boy thrown in." What a 
 champion rouser he must have been ! But how 
 could she know — she was only seventeen when 
 she married him, poor little girl ! 
 
 Here Miss Janetta entered in the black 
 silk, whose rustle was not what it had been on 
 the day that it had lent dignity to the 
 obsequies of the champion rouser. 
 
 " Lily hasn't come in yet," she began, very 
 apologetically ; she was accustomed to finding 
 herself a disappointment. " Danny's after 
 coming back from the forge. He says she 
 went over the hill with her bike to Ash^rove. 
 It must be she got some message from Tom 
 Coyne. Danny says he was at the forge." 
 
 " Gone to Ashgrove ! " repeated Fanshawe,
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 333 
 
 with surprise and obvious offence. " Why, I 
 was going to take her there this afternoon ! " 
 
 " It might be it was something about the 
 poor dog that got the poison," suggested Miss 
 Janetta, with every wish to be consolatory. 
 
 Fanshawe's face flushed. " I think Fitz- 
 Symons might look after his own hounds," he 
 said huffily. He hesitated. "If you don't 
 mind, Miss Janetta, I think I'll just walk up 
 the road and meet her." 
 
 " Do now, do ! " said Miss Janetta, eagerly. 
 
 The bang of the hall door was music to her 
 car. She would have time" now to put a few 
 Christmas roses on the dinner-table. It really 
 was a great shame for Lily to keep that poor 
 young man waiting on her this way. Any 
 resentment on her own behalf never occurred 
 to Miss Janetta's humble mind. 
 
 Fanshawe's long legs took him up the road 
 at a very considerable pace. No doubt that 
 was what was keeping her, he said to himself, 
 she had been sent for to doctor the hound. 
 Infernal cheek he called it. They knew jolly 
 well she was cleverer than the whole lot of 
 them put together. Then he thought of last 
 night, at that cottage where they had had tea. 
 He remembered how she and John Michael 
 had said awfully intimate sort of things to each
 
 334 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 other at the door, things he couldn't hear. He 
 hadn't liked it at the time, and he liked it less 
 now that he thought about it. He had always 
 had a notion that there had been something 
 between them once, and old Bolger had hinted 
 something about it too. He had tried to pin 
 her about it one afternoon coming home from 
 hunting, and she didn't altogether deny it. 
 She just rotted and humbugged about it, as she 
 always did. Anyhow he wasn't going to stand 
 her being ordered about like this. 
 
 He passed the forge at a good four miles 
 an hour, and took the turn up the hill that 
 Mrs. Delanty had taken in the morning. He 
 went up it, as she had gone up it before him, 
 with his own thought, like Sir Bedivere's, 
 driving him like a goad, even as she had been 
 driven. Such a road for a bicycle ! he thought, 
 fuming ; it was just like her, though, not to 
 think about that where a hound was concerned. 
 
 He turned a corner in the lane, and saw, 
 up the hill ahead of him, a bicycle lying on the 
 ground, and a little figure huddled against the 
 bank near it. 
 
 Mrs. Delanty heard his running step, and 
 raised her head from her hands. She and the 
 bicycle had come down with some force ; she 
 was covered with mud, she had hurt her elbow,
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 335 
 
 and one hand was badly scraped. Nothing 
 very serious, but it had shaken her, and she 
 had Iain there against the bank, and felt that 
 the courage was out of her. She had felt bad 
 enough before it happened, she had said to 
 herself, and now she didn't care if she lay there 
 all day. 
 
 As she tried to struggle to her feet, Fan- 
 shawe's arms were round her, supporting her, 
 protecting her, making a shelter for her. She 
 felt suddenly that he was a man, a big stalwart 
 creature, that he loved her, and that he wanted 
 her. 
 
 " I was coming too fast down the hill," she 
 said, shaking all over as she leaned against 
 him, and felt the comfort of his support ; " I 
 knew I was keeping you waiting." 
 
 "You were hurrying on my account!" 
 whispered Fanshawe, pressing her to him. 
 
 How slight and small she was in his arms ! 
 How fragile! Such a little thing! How white 
 and tear-stained her face was as he looked 
 down into it ! 
 
 " You shall never go away from me again ! " 
 he said, dizzily, as the lips that had been 
 unattainable were his at last.
 
 CHAPTER XXX 
 
 KATHARINE sat in the garden of the 
 Hotel Beau Sejour, and looked down 
 upon the radiant Bay of Liguria. It 
 was April, and the air was warm and rich ; 
 carnations and freesias, and roses, gave of their 
 best to it, the scent of hot pine-trees was in it, 
 and the immeasurable blueness of the Mediter- 
 ranean came up with it through the cloistral 
 grey of the olives. It was very quiet in the 
 garden ; somewhere near, a little fountain of a 
 single thread made a stealthy sound, like a 
 whisper, or the stealing footstep of a nymph. 
 Far below, in the cove, a wind that Katharine 
 could hear but could not feel, was driving green 
 wavelets on to the rocks, white-hooded, and 
 hissing like snakes. It was St. George's Day, 
 and at intervals the bells of San Giorgio, down 
 in the Port below the olive woods, broke into 
 a dance in honour of their patron. 
 
 Katharine looked across the bay to the 
 long coast of Southern Italy, where the white 
 
 336
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX zzj 
 
 houses of Chiavari and Sestri Levante crowded 
 up from the sea, and lay scattered Hke sheep 
 on the hill-sides. She was paler and thinner 
 than she had been, and something of the asser- 
 tive vigour was gone, that touch of " the imperial 
 votaress" that Ulick Adare had commented on, 
 not without asperity, a little less than a year 
 ago. Her grey eyes seemed larger, and more 
 deeply set, but the adventurousness that was 
 native to them was alight, as they absorbed 
 the far beauty of the Apennines. This was 
 Italy, Italy of the Caesars, Italy of the Battles, 
 of the Arts, of the people who made the world ! 
 She fired at the thought of what that thick-set, 
 truculent, old Castello, on the hill opposite, had 
 seen in its day. Coeur de Lion's galleys had 
 steered into this very port, just as that yacht 
 was coming in now, leaning her white side on 
 the blue-green water, with her sails full and 
 ruffling, like the plumage of an angry swan. 
 She was Hying the English Hag, too ! Katha- 
 rine discovered at this point that she was a 
 litde vague on the subject of Coeur de Lion's 
 flag, and fell to wondering if the women in the 
 Place had made him buy lace for Berengaria. 
 She thought that if they were as determined as 
 their descendants, they had most certainly done 
 so. She speculated on how long he had taken 
 
 2
 
 338 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 to get here from England, and why he had ever 
 left this lovely land to go back there. 
 
 " I suppose he went back for the hunting!" 
 she thought ; " as I shall I " 
 
 She had been for three months on the 
 southern side of the Alps, wandering with 
 Jean Masterman (marvellously emancipated 
 from the Nursery and Mademoiselle), and 
 England existed only as a place on the map, 
 that sent forth newspapers, and five-pound 
 notes in registered envelopes. As for Ireland, 
 Ireland was a tradition, a grey spot astray 
 upon a misty ocean. In a remote past things 
 had happened there ; she thought of them as 
 little as possible, but sometimes they sprang 
 upon her unawares, and made her understand 
 that we may regret our sins, but we agonize 
 over our follies. Well, Dermot was not a 
 folly, her " Dermot, dear and brown," for 
 whose board and lodging she was even now 
 paying Mrs. Fanshawe. At all events she 
 could think of Dermot without writhing, even, 
 if that last doctor at Nice was to be believed, 
 with visions that made her heart gallop, of his 
 future prowess in an English country. 
 
 She looked down at the yellow hotel with 
 the green shutters. It had taken all her 
 strength to walk from it up the steep and
 
 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 339 
 
 stony paths to where she was sitting/and she 
 had sunk upon the garden bench exhausted 
 and had quoted to herself Queen Katharine's 
 line, " My legs, like loaden branches, bow to 
 the earth." Hunting was still a long way off; 
 it was not good to think of it. She could see 
 the window of her room, in which at this 
 moment the housemaids, Gina and Francesca, 
 obviously bored with the dull routine of house- 
 hold tasks, were lolling on their elbows and 
 talking loudly and jovially. But they also 
 reminded her of Ireland. 
 
 She closed her eyes, and through the gay 
 voices heard the smooth rattle of a chain run- 
 ning out, as the English yacht came to anchor 
 under the old Castello. 
 
 In the room next to that in which Gina 
 and Francesca held converse Jean Masterman 
 was writing, as a good wife should, to her 
 husband. 
 
 " This place is excellent for Katharine, so 
 dull and so romantic. Ulick says he is making 
 his obliging friend bring the yacht round here 
 from Genoa. I don't quite know what the 
 position is with regard to him, but I suppose it 
 will be my duty to devote myself to the 
 obliging friend. To tell you the truth I shall 
 be rather surprised if she marries any one, and
 
 340 DAN RUSSEL THE FOX 
 
 whether she marries or whether she doesn't 
 marry, she will probably be sorry for it occa- 
 sionally. As for that ridiculous Dumb Crambo 
 business, I heard rather a nice story the other 
 day that about expresses it. Some woman 
 saw her very respectable married butler kissing 
 her equally respectable maid in the garden. 
 She thought it her duty to administer a rebuke. 
 " ' Say no more about it, my lady,' the butler 
 said magnificently, * it was just a freak ! ' " 
 
 >y^ 
 
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