166 THE SILVER FOX 



As she climbed- the first wall, a horse and 

 rider leaped up into view on a high bank 

 some two hundred yards away to her right, 

 near where three thin and slanting Druidic 

 stones were dimly seen through the mist. 

 They dropped down out of sight among a 

 wild growth of hazels. Maria stood stock 

 still; the powers of darkness had outrun 

 her. Neither horse nor rider reappeared. 

 It was stunningly complete, it was terrific 

 and just retribution, but yet — oh, Mother 

 of Our Lord ! — the rider was a woman. 



The peasant heart struggled in the grave- 

 clothes of hatred and superstition, and burst 

 forth with its native impetuousness and 

 warmth. Maria started forward and ran 

 towards the field where the hazels grew. 

 She ran clumsily because of her ill-made 

 boots, but she got over the ground with 

 surprising quickness. She climbed another 

 wall, a strong one with thorn-bushes laid 

 along the top, and was in a small field full 

 of grey clumps of young hazel. She skirted 

 these rapidly, but with care, and once 



