CHAPTER XXVII. 



When the patter of raindrops gave the first promise that 

 the surface of the earth was about to lose its cast-iron 

 quahties, Miss Lavinia Badsworth, the younger, experienced 

 the unpleasant sensation that she was about to be weighed 

 in the balance. For some months she had been conscious 

 that the day would come if she lived, and she had worked 

 hard with that end in view ; but now that the inevitable was 

 within measurable distance, misgivings stalked in and sat 

 down as if they had come to stay. Twelve hours later, with 

 the rain still falling, the cards went forth to tell those con- 

 cerned that two days hence the hounds would meet at 

 Clinkern Wood at six a.m. When she had addressed the 

 last, Lavvy rested her elbows on her late uncle's desk, and 

 her chin upon her hands. 



"You'll have plenty of room in Clinkern Wood," Joe 

 Summers had said, "and I'll ride up on the cob and lend 

 you a hand if I can." 



There was consolation in this, and also in the belief that 

 the early hour would make the number of spectators small. 



Then came letters which took away a free hand in some 

 parts of the country and rendered necessary the study of 

 the hunting map. Several shootists intimated their wish 

 that hounds should not touch their coverts until they had 

 been shot. There had been in Hugo Badsworth'stime some 

 few who had issued this ultimatum, but there had always 

 been a feeling approaching reverence for the late master 

 which had held in check those who were inclined to eat their 

 cake and have it too ; those who, whilst they were ready to 

 participate in the sport provided by other people, were of 



207 



