Mary, as soon as she saw him, blushed up to her eyes, then turning round looked with wistful eyes into the face of the man she was engaged to marry, and with rapid step walked across the bridge up to the side of Larry’s horse, and spoke to him with her sweet low voice. “Larry,” she said. He turned round to her very quickly, showing how much he was startled. Then she put up her hand to him, and of course he took it. “Larry, I am so glad to see you. Did papa give you a message?”
“Yes, Miss Masters. He told me, I know it all.”
“Say a kind word to me, Larry.”
“I—I—I—You know very well what’s in my mind. Though it were to kill me, I should wish you well.”
“I hope you’ll have a good hunt, Larry.” Then she retired back to the bridge and again looked to her lover to know whether he would approve. There were so few there, and Larry had been so far apart from the others, that she was sure no one had heard the few words which had passed between them; nor could anyone have observed what she had done, unless it were old Nupper, or Mr. Runciman, or Tony Tuppett. But yet she thought that it perhaps was bold, and that he would be angry. But he came up to her, and placing himself between her and Kate, whispered into her ear, “Bravely done, my girl. After a little I will try to be as brave, but I could never do it as well.” Larry in the meantime had moved his mare away, and before the Master had arrived, was walking slowly up his own road to Chowton Farm.
The Captain was soon there, and Lord Rufford with his friends, and Harry Stubbings’ string, and Tony were set in motion. But before they stirred there was a consultation—to which Bean the gamekeeper was called—as to the safety of Dillsborough Wood. Dillsborough Wood had not been drawn yet since Scrobby’s poison had taken effect on the old fox, and there were some few who affected to think that there still might be danger. Among these was the Master himself, who asked Fred Botsey with a sneer whether he thought that such hounds as those were to be picked up at every corner. But Bean again offered to eat any herring that might be there, poison included, and Lord Rufford laughed at the danger. “It’s no use my having foxes, Glomax, if you won’t draw the cover.” This the Lord said with a touch of anger, and the Lord’s anger, if really roused, might be injurious. It was therefore decided that the hounds should again be put through the Bragton shrubberies—just for compliment to the new squire;—and that then they should go off to Dillsborough Wood as rapidly as might be.
Larry walked his beast all the way up home very slowly, and getting off her, put her into the stable and went into the house.
“Is anything wrong?” asked the mother.
“Everything is wrong.” Then he stood with his back to the kitchen fire for nearly half an hour without speaking a word. He was trying to force himself to follow out her idea of manliness, and telling himself that it was impossible. The first tone of her voice, the first glance at her face, had driven him home. Why had she called him Larry again and again, so tenderly, in that short moment, and looked at him with those loving eyes? Then he declared to himself, without uttering a word, that she did not understand anything about it; she did not comprehend the fashion of his love when she thought, as she did think, that a soft word would be compensation. He looked round to see if his mother or the servant were there, and when he found that the coast was clear, he dashed his hands to his eyes and knocked away the tears. He threw up both his arms and groaned, and then he remembered her message, “Bid him be a man.”
At that moment he heard the sound of horses, and going near the window, so as to be hidden from curious eyes as they passed, he saw the first whip trot on, with the hounds after him, and Tony Tuppett among them. Then there was a long string of horsemen, all moving up to the wood, and a carriage or two, and after them the stragglers of the field. He let them all go by, and then he repeated the words again, “Bid him be a man.” He took up his hat, jammed it on his head, and went out into the yard. As he crossed to the stables Runciman came up alone. “Why, Larry, you’ll be late,” he said.
“Go on, Mr. Runciman, I’ll follow.”
“I’ll wait till you are mounted. You’ll be better for somebody with you. You’ve got the mare, have you? You’ll show some of them your heels if they get away from here. Is she as fast as she was last year, do you think?”
“Upon my word I don’t know,” said Larry, as he dragged himself into the saddle.
“Shake yourself, old fellow, and don’t carry on like that. What is she after all but a girl?” The poor fellow looked at his intending comforter, but couldn’t speak a word. “A man shouldn’t let hisself be put upon by circumstances so as to be only half hisself. Hang it, man, cheer up, and don’t let ’em see you going about like that. It ain’t
