A FUGITIVE 69 



fears. But there was no sound, not even a 

 slight rustling of the medlar leaves. The 

 silence, however, brought him no comfort. It 

 could not dispel the dread which kept him 

 wandering aimlessly about the oatfield like a 

 thing awaiting its doom ; so that he must have 

 wasted half an hour before leaving by the gate 

 at the lower corner and galloping across the 

 long meadow where some bullocks glared at 

 him as he sped past. In the small enclosure 

 beyond he stopped to nibble one of the turnips 

 growing there, but so nervous was he that the 

 pigeon drinking at the woodland pool does not 

 raise its head more often than he. His eyes 

 are directed to the spot on the hedge where he 

 had passed ; for he is sure that the polecats 

 before now have struck his trail. 



His apprehension proved correct. The pole- 

 cats had happened on his line amongst the 

 furze above the mill-pool, and run it in the 

 right direction from the first. More than once 

 the mother, conscious of the wide circuit made 

 by a hare, was on the point of abandoning the 

 trail ; but the sight of her kittens revelling 

 in the scent got the better of her judgment 

 and induced her to keep on. She led her 

 young at the utmost speed they were capable 

 of maintaining, arresting her steps only to scan 



