little weak. The huntsman is nearest (and all praise to him, as hounds have run hard for forty minutes!); he has pulled up to a walk, for the clay land clings to each boot with a tenacity which renders even walking a wearisome struggle. He knows well that the moment is critical, as there are probably fresh hares lying in the field; that scent may so far fail as to compel him to make a cast; and that this will certainly increase the already imminent danger of a change. He is just stopping, in order to keep well away from his hounds, when he almost treads on a fresh hare which gets up under his feet. She heads straight for the pack, but our huntsman stands still as death; puss, seeing hounds, swerves away without their catching a view, and the danger of a change is for the moment past. But our huntsman's eyes are at work, and he presently observes a dark form stealing away about a hundred yards in front of the pack. He looks again, makes sure that it is his hare, and then, blowing his horn, has his hounds to him in a trice, while he gamely struggles through the clay at the best pace he can muster towards the spot where the hunted hare has disappeared over a brow, her arched back betraying her distressed condition, so that if only hounds can get a view they must kill her.
The game is well nigh won; but unfortunately
