132 THE SILVER FOX 



among the trees a group of men, a fire 

 of fir-branches crackling in a bed of red 

 ember and white ash, and down at the left 

 side of the path a pond that glimmered 

 darkly in a pale- setting of sedgy grass. 

 There was a punt on the pond, and boat- 

 hooks and ropes were flung about. Glasgow 

 was standing by, why or how it did not occur 

 to Slaney to inquire. There were several 

 countrymen whom she recognized, and all 

 seemed silently intent on some central 

 catastrophe. 



The woman's voice was unintelligible now, 

 half-smothered and near the ground, as if 

 her mouth were laid against the grass. 

 Two men stooped and tried to pull her to 

 her feet. A red head appeared, swaying, 

 as when, a month before, Maria Quin stag- 

 gered through the drunken crowd while 

 they closed her father's coffin. Slaney saw 

 now what it was that lay on the ground 

 beside her; the fixed sprawl of the limbs 

 in the soaked clothing, the discoloured 

 cheek, torn by boat-hooks ; it expressed 



