"What else are they, Kathleen? Not that I blame them, they are trained to the work, and squires and ladies fair enjoy the sport to which horse, hound, and wretched fox contribute. You may smile, Kathleen, but I know that look of contempt is only for your old aunt's old-fashioned ideas, not for herself. But, however long I may live, I trust I shall never find pleasure in what causes suffering to the meanest of God's creatures."
Kathleen rushed impulsively towards her aunt, threw her arms round her neck, and kissed her again and again.
"You old darling!" she exclaimed; "of course the smile was at your ideas about fox-hunting. I should be the most ungrateful creature living if I could be capable of feeling anything but love and reverence for your dear self. Yes, I have pushed your cap nearly off your head by rushing at you and hugging you, after the manner of a bear. But never mind. I will put you nicely to rights again. The cap was a wee bit on one side before. I always have to straighten it about six times a day."
Mrs. Ellicott looked up at the fair face which was bending over her, then drew it nearer still, and returned her niece's caress with more gentleness but no less affection than Kathleen had shown.
"And you, Kathleen," she said, "only make believe that you have any sympathy with those who follow a cruel custom. You like to see the gay turn-out, the gallant pack, the daring riders, the eager horses, and to note all the bonne camaraderie of the hunt. But there are other cruelties inseparable from this sport, and one instance out of many gave me a dislike to it which nothing can conquer. I shall never forget how I felt when I heard the tale, years before you were born, my dear."
"What was it, aunt?"
"It was about the late earl's sister. She was a most daring huntress, but professed to be very fond of her horses, one in particular, a beautiful creature that was gentleness itself, and was petted like a dog. In the excitement of the hunt, and when determined to be foremost at the death of the miserable fox, she urged on the beautiful animal by savage use of whip and spur, and compelled it to keep up a pace which no horse could continue for long. When Lady Lois drew rein at Hollingsby the animal reeled, and as her feet touched the ground he fell dead. A few seconds in dismounting, and she would have been crushed beneath her ill-used steed. She was just down in time to save her life."
"How horrible! if the tale be really true," said Kathleen, turned for the moment from contemplating her own special grievance.
"It is true, dear. There were eye-witnesses enough, and many would have cried shame on a humbler rider. There was enough said, though, as Lady Lois Holwynd was the culprit, people spoke with bated breath of her fault, and found excuses for it in a louder key."
"She was young. Such a daring rider, and the very life of the hunt. So generous in supporting it, so kind in many ways. Open-handed to a fault. Thus people excused her; but though Lady Lois has passed away, the memory of that day's cruelty abides, and will be talked of for many a year to come."