230 rate's day with the old horse 



ran the deep and broad stream of the Cheln, 

 unfordable, and rarely, if ever, crossed (save by a 

 bridge) in the annals of fox-hunting. As the three 

 neared the river, they were (thanks to a lucky 

 turn) in the same field with the hounds. 



" By Jove, there he is," cried the " dealer," 

 breaking silence for the first time, and there, sure 

 enough, dragging his gallant but draggled person 

 up the bank opposite was poor " pug," in full view 

 of the pack. No otter hounds ever took water 

 more savagely than did old Monitor and his com- 

 rades, almost whining with impatience to close with 

 their gallant foe. 



" Kate, for God's sake, don't try it," cried 

 Vernon. 



It was too late ; the old horse had already been 

 driven in, and the first woman who ever swam 

 a horse across the Cheln was already battling with 

 the stream, her lips hard set, her grey-blue eyes 

 full of fire, and her whole face recalling vividly for 

 the moment, in spite of its natural softness, the 

 stern outlines of those ancestors whose war-worn 

 profiles adorned the long galleries of the Hall. 



It was a difficult swim, but old Joe's limbs were 

 borne up bravely by the brave heart within, and it 

 was not till long after the dripping habit had been 

 dried that it occurred to Kate that, like Lord 



