ing anew the reaches he had passed. He tried every holt he came to, but without result.
'Do you think he's gone down?' shouted the squire to the miller across the river.
'I don't, sir. I didn't find a trace from the ford up, and, as you know, the hounds didn't give a sign.'
'Well, there's no holding worth the name between here and Longen. Where can he be?'
The puzzling question was answered by the deep note of Dosmary from an overgrown watercourse that served to drain the morass. No need was there for the squire to cry out, 'Hark to Dosmary'; for the hounds, on hearing the summons they knew so well, flew to her where she threaded the reed-bed before taking the steep leading to the moor. Then up the all but bare face the twenty couple made their way in a long winding line. Close after the hindmost pressed the squire, the parson and five others, all sound of wind and limb, capable of holding on to the end of the promontory, if need be. Not a word passed until the hounds had crossed the stream where it was thought the otter might have laid up, and then only 'Liddens, men,' and 'Ay, sir!' from the moorman in response. Even the sight of the otter's footprints in the next hollow drew
