"So it appears. We are to see the Fifeshire hounds throw off at Largo House; and afterwards we are to drive home by a circuit, through half the country, to let Lady Chillingham see the scenery."
"In a January day!" drawled Berkeley. "Do we—aw—start before tiffin?"
"If by that you mean luncheon, I say after it, decidedly," said Lady Chillingham, in her cool, determined manner, which few—the earl, her husband, especially—could gainsay. "I have to write to my Lord Slubber and others."
"Pardon me, my dear Lady Chillingham, but this arrangement is impossible," said my uncle; "we must leave this in time to see the hounds throw off."
"And the hour, Sir Nigel?"
"Sharp twelve. Binns will take luncheon for us in the boot of the drag. Berkeley, you, I believe, are to don the pink, and ride with me. I shall cross the country to-night, but not in my official capacity, as I have not yet assumed all the duties appertaining to the honourable office of the master of the Fifeshire hounds. And now to breakfast. Lady Chillingham, permit me—your hand, and we shall lead the way."
"When I do take the hunting of the country into my own care," resumed my uncle, "I shall show you as noble a pack as ever drew cover; ay, dogs as smart as ever had their tails running after them, even before cub-hunting begins next season; and so compactly shall they go, that a tablecloth might cover them all when in full cry."
"By that time, uncle, I shall be testing the mettle of the Russian cavalry; but my heart will be with you all here in Calderwood Glen."
Lady Louisa's eyes were upon me as I said this; their expression was unfathomable, so I was fain to construe it into something sympathetic or of interest in my fate.
The day was clear and beautiful; the air serene, though cold, and the swelling outlines of the green and verdant hills were sharply defined against the blue of the sky, where a few fleecy clouds were floating on the west wind.