But he was not permitted much time to think of such a thing, for the Master had given the signal, and already a general move was being made in the direction of the Spinney. Godfrey settled himself down by Miss Devereux’s side, leaving the old gentleman free to discuss the prospects of the day with the local doctor, a sportsman of some celebrity in the neighbourhood.
“Miss Devereux,” said Godfrey, as they approached the wood, “at the risk of offending you, I must say that I don’t altogether care about the look of that horse. I should say, from his appearance, handsome as it is, that he possesses more than a touch of temper. I do hope you will be careful what you do with him to-day.”
“You needn’t be afraid,” she answered, as she flashed a sharp glance at him. “I think we understand each other perfectly. He hasn’t been with hounds for some time, and he’s naturally a little excited. It will wear off, however, before the day is done.”
“I sincerely hope it may,” Godfrey continued. “In the meantime I can not help wishing that we could exchange mounts.”
“You think that you could manage him better than I?” she said. “If that is a challenge we will see. Now, let us watch what goes on, for I want to be well away.”
At that moment three blasts of the horn were heard from the right, and, before Godfrey could have counted twenty, the hounds were out of cover and streaming away in the direction of the village—only to change their course after the first quarter of a mile.
“It looks as if we were in for a fast thing,” said Miss Devereux; and the words had scarcely left her lips when the chestnut gave a violent plunge in the air and was off at a racing pace.
“If he goes on like that, the brute will pull her arms out, if he doesn’t do anything worse,” Godfrey muttered to himself.
But so far the girl had got him well in hand. Sitting back in the saddle, she let him have his head, taking a gradual pull at him as they neared the first hedge. Whatever his other faults may have been, he was certainly a jumper, for he cleared the obstacle in unmistakable style. As she had said a few moments before, there could be no doubt that they were in for a fast thing. The hounds were racing as if their one desire was to run Master Reynard to earth before he could get into the next field. Godfrey’s own horse, to use a phrase that his mother could never understand, “was going strong,” but he could not live in the same county with the chestnut. In spite of Miss Devereux’s undoubted skill in the saddle, the horse was gradually becoming the master. At the third fence, an ugly-looking post and rail, with a bad approach, he took off too soon, giving his rider the chance of an extremely nasty fall. She saved the situation, however, by a miracle. They had reached the top of the hill, and were descending into the valley on the other side, when Godfrey, whose horse was doing its best, realized that something very serious was the matter ahead. The chestnut had undeniably got out of hand, and, scared by some sheep, was edging toward the left.
“It is just what I expected,” he said to himself as he rode along some half-a-dozen lengths behind the other. “She is losing control over him. I must follow at all costs.”