"Not a word."
"I dare say he thinks more of writing to a correspondent of the fairer sex."
This was unbearable. Though the fox had again turned and gone up the valley,—a movement which seemed to threaten his instant death, and to preclude any hope of a run from that spot,—Hampstead felt himself compelled to escape, if he could. In his anger he touched his horse with his spur and galloped away among the rocks, as though his object was to assist Mr. Amblethwaite in his almost frantic efforts. But Crocker cared nothing for the stones. Where the lord went, he went. Having made acquaintance with a lord, he was not going to waste the blessing which Providence had vouchsafed to him.
"He'll never leave that place alive, my lord."
"I dare say not." And again the persecuted nobleman rode on,—thinking that neither should Crocker, if he could have his will.
"By the way, as we are talking of Roden—"
"I haven't been talking about him at all." Crocker caught the tone of anger, and stared at his companion. "I'd rather not talk about him."
"My lord! I hope there has been nothing like a quarrel. For the lady's sake, I hope there's no misunderstanding!"
"Mr. Crocker," he said very slowly, "it isn't customary—"
At that moment the fox broke, the hounds were away, and Mr. Amblethwaite was seen rushing down the hill-side, as though determined on breaking his neck. Lord Hampstead rushed after him at a pace which, for a time, defied Mr. Crocker. He became thoroughly ashamed of himself in even attempting to make the man understand that he was sinning against good taste. He could not do so without some implied mention of his sister, and to allude to his sister in connection with such a man was a profanation. He could only escape from the brute. Was this a punishment which he was doomed to bear for being—as his stepmother was wont to say—untrue to his order?