The dogs took the water with a splash, and Grace turned her head.

She felt pitiful and did not want to see the end.

The animal had made a gallant fight, and she shrank from the butchery.
The clatter of heavy boots on stones suddenly stopped; there was a curious pause, and Grace looked up as somebody shouted: "'Gone to holt! Ca' off your hounds.

Wheer's t' terrier ?" The hunt swept up the bank, smashed through a hedge, and spread along the margin of the neighboring pool.

A few big alders grew beside its edge, sending down their roots into deep water; but for the most part the bank was supported by timbers driven into the soil, and freshly laid with neatly-bedded turf.