THE SILVER FOX 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 excite- 

 ment, that Miss Morris was a clinking 

 good gir], 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 excite- 

 ment of success were mixed up with the 

 fragrance of the beaten sod, the peaty whiff 

 of the broken bog fence, and the conscious- 



