the frost that had sharpened the moon and armoured the pools, held its ground for but one night. the voice of the south moaned in the casements, a grey, strong rain followed it, and on the morning of the second day a clean wind blew across the soaked fields, and the sun came forth in a sky of new-born blue.
tom quin’s red-haired sister stood at the door of her house, and looked across the furzy uplands to where a long wood climbed and sank on a spur of cahirdreen hill. her hair seemed on fire in the sunshine, and the pupils of her light eyes were contracted to pin points by the glare from the white-washed lintel.
{63}
“he’s coming,” she said, turning back in to the house, where her mother was sitting on a stool by the fire, with a cup of tea in her hand, and a bare-legged grandchild squatting beside her on the warm hearthstone. since her bereavement, the widow quin breakfasted fitfully by half-cupfuls at intervals during the morning, and did not sit at the table.
“oh, musha, musha, a quare hour o’ the day he comes to his breakfast, goin’ on eleven o’clock, an’ he that wint out before it was makin’ day!”
mrs. quin shed tears, and little mikeen utilized the opportunity by burying his dirty face in her cup, and taking a long drink of the bitter strong tea.
tom quin did not waste words on his family when he came in. he sat down on the settle, with his hat on, and his eyes fixed on the floor between his muddy boots. his dog, a black-and-grey cur, remotely allied to the collie breed, snuffed with an habituated nose at the pots and pans under the dresser, found no change in them since{64} he had licked them the night before, passed the lair of the cat with respectful rigidity, and lay down as if tired, submitting like a christian and a gentleman to the fondlings of mikeen.
“have they the bridge finished yet, in tully bog?” asked maria quin, as she took the teapot up from its nest in the hot ashes.
quin raised his heavy eyes quickly.
“ye think ye’re damn wise,” he said, “follyin’ me, an’ axin’ me this an’ that what was i doin’. haven’t i throuble enough without the likes o’ yee annoyin’ me!”
“oh, asthoreen,” wailed his mother, “sure it’s only that we’re that much unaisy for the way ye are, that we’d ax where’d ye go. take the cup o’ tay, asthore, don’t be talkin’ that way.”
quin relapsed into silence, and maria was in the act of pouring out his tea, when the long sweet note of a horn struck suddenly on their ears, and watch sprang{65} out of the open door, barking his shrill vulgar bark, and sniffing the breeze. he was hardly quicker than his master. before maria had time to put down the teapot, quin was outside, listening and staring, and cursing the dog into silence. he saw two red-coated horsemen trotting round the end of the wood, and the note of the horn came again, smooth and melodious. quin started at a run in the direction of the covert, drawing hard, sobbing breaths as he ran.
on the road at the other side of the covert, slaney was sitting on isabella, the elderly brown mare, and wishing that she had stayed at home. to sit on isabella’s back was an experience almost distinct from riding; it suggested more than anything else a school-room sofa propelled into action by a sour and sluggish sense of the inevitable, a school-room sofa that partook of the nature of the governess. slaney’s sharply-cut face was pale and sleepless-looking; she was no longer the ethereal creature of the firelight and moonlight, merely an ill-{66}turned-out girl, with interesting eyes and a clear skin, who appeared to be absorbed in discussing bronchitis kettles with the dispensary doctor. lady susan was a little farther down the road on her husband’s grey, the horse who was, so far, the only creature possessed of the knowledge that hugh was afraid of him. he was well aware that lady susan was not, but that, after all, was a fact that was patent to all beholders.
mr. glasgow, turning away from lady susan, and looking back as he turned, thought that she was as good a thing to look at as he had ever seen. he was on his way to slaney, and as he neared her he attuned his eye to that expression of understanding, even of tenderness, that the occasion required. he delighted in the position; it was intricate, it was a little risky, and in spite of slaney’s wrinkled habit and old-fashioned hat, he still recognized the attractive quality in her. he felt that it was discriminating and chivalrous{67} of him to be able to do so, and looking down on her from the mental elevation of his assured horsemanship, and his power of being agreeable to women, he anticipated with sufficient pleasure another harmless deviation or so from the ordinary paths of friendship.
“so you did come out, after all,” he began, riding possessively up to her, “in spite of the witch! do you know that dan’s afraid to go into the covert, and major bunbury’s taking the hounds through it!”
the sun shone on the top of his head as he took his hat off; slaney had not before noticed the exact extent of his baldness. she gave him a conventional smile and nod, and went on talking to dr. hallahan. glasgow waited, lighting a cigarette, and, at the next pause, spoke to her again. his eyes were full of meaning and penetration, and he knew that they were kind, but hers met them with the merest politeness as she answered him. there was a perplexed{68} whimper from a hound down at the lower end of the covert; glasgow caught up his reins and trotted away in the direction in which lady susan was already moving. this was not the moment for winding back through the maze of slaney’s mood; he held the clue and could use it at his leisure.
slaney detached herself from dr. hallahan, and rode alone up the mountain road. the hounds had drawn the gorse outside the covert, and were slowly working up through a wood of scrubby aboriginal oak trees, woven together by a tangle of briars; round the outskirts a band of young firs and larches imparted an effect of amenity, but the domain of the oaks had as impracticable an air as the curled and bossed forehead of the mountain bull that was shouting defiance from a neighbouring field. slaney moved slowly on and up till she reached the top corner of the covert; and pausing there, the brown mare proceeded, with her usual air of infinite leisure, to crop the green spikes of a furze-bush. the{69} smoke from quin’s farm rose bluely from the valley below, a long stretch of brown country spangled with lakes lay beyond, and behind all, rising to meet the eye, the sea stood high like a silver wall against the horizon. curlew were crying on the sunny slopes above slaney, and the whistling of green plover filled the air. no one was in sight save a rider posted out on the hill to watch the top of the covert; the inevitable mob of country boys was at the lower end, and the sound of hugh’s and major bunbury’s voices, holloaing to the hounds, came distantly from the bottom of the wood.
slaney sat quite still, while the life and freshness of the morning passed by her, and left her dull as stone. the thud of a footstep that ran, and laboured in running, did not make her look round; she thought it was the usual country boy till she saw tom quin come lurching and stumbling round the far corner of the wood, with his dog panting at his heels. even at a distance of a hundred yards or more an extravagance{70} as of despair was unmistakable about him. as slaney looked at him, a hound, not far off in the covert, gave two or three contralto notes in succession, and at the same moment there was a rustle in the bracken, a few yards in front of her. a grey face parted the brown fern and looked out at her; a fox’s face, with its oblique crafty eyes and sharp refined muzzle, but the fur was silver-grey.
“a thing like an arctic fox,” slaney heard lady susan’s voice declaiming on the ice at hurlingham.
the fox slipped down off the fence through the bracken, crossed the road with a dainty whisk of its grey brush, glided up the opposite bank like a shadow, and was gone. a cold and prickling sensation passed over slaney, that feeling of “a wind from the say coming betune the skin an’ the blood” that old dan quin had felt. it died away, and left her with a bounding heart and a reddened cheek, and a sense of intense participation in the events of the moment,{71} instead of the lifeless passivity of five minutes before. her courage repelled the shock to her instinct, but her understanding had taken a lift to the unknown and the impossible, and in spite of the morning sunshine and the candid blue sky, she could not altogether right herself.
a long shout of “gone away” came from the watcher on the hill, and the hounds came tumbling out of the wood in the lovely headlong rush that has the shape of a wave and a thousandfold its impetuosity. with the indescribable chorus of yells and squeals that is known as full cry, they swept past slaney, and it was at this juncture that isabella, the brown mare, found herself the victim of a gush of enthusiasm. it may have been a survival in her old soul of the days when she had, according to tradition, carried the huntsman of the county pack; it may have been that she, like her rider, was lifted out of herself by the discerning of spiritual things; at any rate, when she found her head pointed{72} at a promising place in the fence, she bundled over it with an agility for which no one would have given her credit, and slaney found herself galloping alone behind the racing pack.
the fox had done all that was most unexpected, had gone away into the teeth of the wind, in a direction wide of any known destination, and the field, both horse and foot, were all left at the wrong side of the big irregular covert. yet slaney had not gone a hundred yards when lady susan and glasgow were behind her like a storm, and shot past with their horses pulling in the wildness of a first burst. the next fence was a towering bank, wet and rotten and blind with briars, feasible only at a spot where a breach made for cattle had been built up with loose stones. glasgow came first at it, checking his young horse’s ingenuous desire to buck, and sitting down for a big fly. he was suddenly confronted by tom quin at the far side, brandishing a stone as big as a turnip as if in the act to{73} throw it, and the young horse swung round with a jerk that perceptibly tried his rider’s seat. lady susan was close in his tracks, and, far from trying to stop her horse, she gave him a vigorous blow with her hunting-crop, and drove him full pace at the fence and its defender. the grey horse jumped like a deer, and quin perforce sprang aside, cursing vilely and threatening lady susan with the stone. she was gone in an instant, and, before glasgow had pulled his horse together, slaney and isabella were charging the place, slaney with a white face and a crooked hat, isabella with her long nose poked well forward to take her distance. with an economical yet sufficient hoist of her hind quarters the old mare was over, while tom quin remained staring as if stupefied by the feat.
“go away, tom!” called slaney, as she passed him. “don’t mind them—it’s no use—go home!”
she seemed to herself to be calling out of a dream; yet she had never felt so{74} strongly and defiantly alive. the thud of galloping hoofs was in her ears, and she looked back in time to see glasgow’s horse clear the stones with a long bound, and receive a blow across the nose from tom quin’s stick as he landed. drag as she might she could not calm isabella, who was bucketing through the heather tussocks with school-girl ardour; when she looked again, quin was holding his hand to his face, as if he had been struck upon it, and was raving in that inarticulate futility of rage that is not good to see. glasgow came on like a thunderbolt, and was beside slaney in a moment, his horse still rampant from the blow.
“he’s mad!” she called out through the wind that sang in her teeth. “he didn’t know what he was doing.”
“didn’t he, though!” glasgow shouted back, his eyes tracking the hounds where they were flitting like white birds across a green field near the brow of the hill; “he knows now, i think!{75}”
lady susan was a hundred yards ahead. glasgow let his horse go, reducing the distance at every stride, and leaving slaney behind. he did not seem like the lover who had found out the secret of her lips two evenings ago.
other riders were close to her now, converging from different points; she was dimly aware of major bunbury below her on the left, riding hard and steady to pick up a bad start; she saw danny’s red coat far away in the heather; she vaguely missed hugh’s. she was in the green field at last, with the hounds casting themselves at the farther side of an ugly stone-faced bank plumed with furze-bushes. the grey had refused, with the nervousness of youth and inexperience, and glasgow was looking about for a better place to get over. at the same moment slaney saw hugh galloping towards them up a hillside track on the bay that his wife had ridden the friday before, and through the maddening din of the hounds opening again on the line, she{76} heard lady susan call to him to give them a lead.
“there, hughie!” she cried, “between the two furze-bushes is the only chance. that horse will do it flying.”
hugh cantered to the place, the bay horse pulling and fuming; he looked at the steep face of the bank, the deep ditch in front of it, and knew that to save his soul he could not ride at it.
“it’s not good enough,” he called out, turning his horse. “we must try round some other way.”
“try round!” ejaculated lady susan, rushing the grey at the fence. “look at the hounds running like the devil over the top of the hill! come up, horse!”
the grey horse recognized the inevitable; he came up on to the top of the bank with an effort, and jumped boldly out across the boggy stream on the far side. glasgow came next, getting over with a scramble, and after him followed the wholly incredible isabella. as major bunbury, cramming his{77} screwy mare at the same place, saw isabella’s crafty hind legs fetch securely up on the bank, he said to himself, with some excitement, that miss morris was a clinking good girl, and that there was nothing in creation like an irish mare, young or old. at this juncture his own mare alighted on her chest and nose, and the eulogy was interrupted.
slaney was but chaotically conscious of subsequent events. the hounds crested the hill, and sped down into the brown and green patchwork of the rough country at the other side, and in a dream-like rush she pursued the flying figures of glasgow and lady susan, scuffling and sliding down rocky hillsides, straining up again with fingers twisted in isabella’s abundant mane, scrambling over rotten fences, splashing and labouring through bog, bucking over loose walls, while physical effort and the excitement of success were mixed up with the fragrance of the beaten sod, the peaty whiff of the broken bog fence, and the conscious{78}ness of encomium and advice from major bunbury. there was a check or two, when she was aware of puffing horses snatching their wind, and flushed riders, telling each other that it was a great run, and then again the brown country flowing past her, and the unfailing guile of isabella.
it was an hour and a half before glasgow, dropping down into a road from the top of a heathery bank, found the hounds at fault on the edge of a wide and famished expanse, half marsh, half bog. they seemed beaten and spiritless; some were already sitting idle and panting on their haunches, and one of the younger ones was baying at a little bare-legged girl, who was uttering lamentable cries at finding herself in the middle of the pack. she and the few starveling cattle she was tending were the only living creatures in sight. it was a flat and inexplicable conclusion, but it was final beyond all ingenuity of casting.
it was a twelve-mile ride home for slaney. she turned isabella’s head almost immedi{79}ately, and started at a walk, while the heat and enthusiasm died slowly away, and to-morrow lay as flat and cold before her as the marsh at her side. she was soon out of sight and hearing of the group on the road, and passed on through the loneliness of the barren hills, a tired figure on a tired horse, forgotten by all. so it was that she saw herself, with that acute perception of the gloom of the position that is with some natures the preliminary to tears.
“what happened to slaney morris?” said lady susan to glasgow, an hour later, as she rode home with him. “she vanished like the fox. is she a witch, too? i think she must be to have got that old crock along as she did.”
“major bunbury will tell you all about her,” replied glasgow, not without interest in the manner in which the information would be received. “i saw him catch her up before she had gone half-a-mile.”
“oh, the wily and dissolute old bunny,” exclaimed lady susan, in high amusement.{80} “won’t he hear about it from me! i’m simply screaming for a cigarette,” she went on, “and hughie has my case in his pocket, and he’s miles behind—oh, thanks!” she took one from glasgow’s case, and lit it in the fresh breeze with practised ease.
“i suppose hughie’s leg must have been bad again to-day,” she said, rather awkwardly, as they moved on again. glasgow stroked his moustache and looked the other way, with a tact sufficiently ostentatious to impress lady susan.
“i saw him come out of the covert over a two-foot wall,” hugh’s wife went on, “and he had no more cling than a toy.” she paused again, and glasgow still was silent. “you saw him at that fence where i asked him for a lead,” she said, with some genuine hesitation. “what do you think was wrong with him?”
“i don’t suppose you can imagine what it feels like to lose your nerve, lady susan,” said glasgow slowly.{81}
she took her cigarette out of her mouth.
“i’ve been horribly afraid it was that,” she said, in a low voice, and their eyes met in a fellowship in which hugh could never have a part.
