Miss Peyton replied, very slowly and pensively, that the fox had come out soiled and fatigued, and trailing his brush. "I looked at him," said she, "and I pitied him. He was one, and we are many; he was so little, and we are so big; he had given us a good gallop; and so I made up my mind he should live to run another day."
The huntsman stared stupidly at her for a moment, then burst into a torrent of oaths, then blew his horn till it was hoarse, then cursed and swore till he was hoarse himself, then to his horn again, and dogs and men came rushing to the sound.
"Couple up, and go home to supper," said Miss Peyton, quietly. "The fox is half-way to Gallowstree Gorse; and you won't get him out of that this afternoon, I promise you."
As she said this, she just touched her horse with the spur, leaped the low hedge in front of her, and cantered slowly home across country. She was one that seldom troubled the hard road, go where she would.
She had ridden about a mile, when she heard a horse's feet behind her. She smiled, and her color rose a little; but she cantered on.
"Halt, in the king's name!" shouted a mellow voice; and a gentleman galloped up to her side, and reined in his mare.
"What! have they killed?" inquired Catharine, demurely.
"Not they; he is in the middle of Gallowstree Gorse by now."
"And is this the way to Gallowstree Gorse?"
"Nay, Mistress," said the young man; "but when the fox heads one way and the deer another, what is a poor hunter to do?"