She had reached the abandoned ice-pond, and was picking her way carefully in the shadow of the trees, when the baying of a pack of hounds in full cry broke on her ears, and with the nervous tremor she had associated from childhood with the sound, she stopped short in the road and waited anxiously for the hunt to pass.Even as she hesitated, feeling in imagination all the blind terror of the pursuit, and determined to swing into a chestnut bough in case of an approach, a small animal darted suddenly from around the bend in the sunken road, and an instant afterward the hounds in hot chase broke from the cover.For a single breath the girl, dropping her parasol, looked at the lowered branch; then as the small animal neared her her glance fell, and she saw that it was a little yellow dog, with hanging red tongue and eyes bulging in terror.From side to side of the red clay road the creature doubled for a moment in its anguish, and then with a spring, straight as the flight of a homing bird, fled to the shelter of Maria's skirts.Quick as a heart-beat the girl's personal fears had vanished, and as an almost savage instinct of battle awoke in her, she stooped with a protecting movement and, picking the small dog from the ground, held him high above her head as the hounds came on.A moment before her limbs had shaken at the distant cries; now facing the immediate presence of the danger, she felt the rage of her pity flow like an infusion of strong blood through her veins.Until they dashed her to the ground she knew that she would stand holding the hunted creature above her head.Like a wave the pack broke instantly upon her, forcing her back against the body of the chestnut, and tearing her dress, at the first blow, from her bosom to the ground.She had felt their weight upon her breast, their hot breath full in her face, when, in the midst of the confused noises in her ears, she heard a loud oath that rang out like a shot, followed by the strokes of a rawhide whip on living flesh.So close came the lash that the curling end smote her cheek and left a thin flame from ear to mouth.The lessening sounds became all at once like the silence;and when the hounds, beaten back, slunk, whimpering, to heel, she lowered her eyes until she looked straight into the face of Christopher Blake."My God! You have pluck!" he said, and his face was like that of a dead man.Still holding the dog above her head, she lay motionless against the body of the tree."Drive the beasts away," she pleaded like a frightened child.Without a word he turned and ordered the hounds home, and they crawled obediently back along the sunken road.Then he looked at her again."I saw them start the dog on my land," he said, "and I ran across the field as soon as I could find my whip.If I hadn't come up when I did they would have torn you to pieces.Not another man in the world could have brought them in.Look at your dress." Glancing down, she followed the long slit from bosom to hem."I hate them!" she exclaimed fiercely."So it was your dog they started?" "Mine!" She lowered the yellow cur, holding him close in her arms, where he nestled shivering."I never saw him before, but he's mine now; I saved him.I shall name him Agag, because the bitterness of death is past." "Well, rather--Look here," he burst out impulsively, "you've got the staunchest pluck I ever saw.I never knew a man brave enough to stand up against those hounds--and you--why, I don't believe you flinched an eyelash, and--by George the dog wasn't yours after all." " As if that made a difference!" she flashed out."Why, he ran to me for help--and they might have killed me, but I'd never have given him up.""I believe you," he declared.She was conscious of a slight thrill that passed quickly, leaving her white and weak."I feel tired," she said, pressing hard against the tree."Will you be so good as to pick up my parasol?" "Tired!" he exclaimed, and after a moment, "Your face is hurt--did the dogs do it?" She shook her head."You struck me with your whip." "Is that so? I can't say after this that I never lifted my hand against a woman--but harsh measures are sometimes necessary, I reckon.Does it smart?" She touched the place lightly."Oh, it's no matter!" she returned."Isuppose I ought really to thank you for taking the trouble to save my life but I don't, because, after all, the hounds are yours, you know." "Yes, I know; and they're good hounds, too, in their way.The dog had no business on their land." "And they're taught to warn off trespassers? Well, I hardly fancy their manner of conveying the hint." "It is sometimes useful, all the while.""Ah, in case of a Fletcher, I presume."
"In case of a Fletcher," he repeated, his face darkening."do you know I had entirely forgotten who you were?""It's time you were remembering it," she returned, "for I am most decidedly a Fletcher."For an instant he scowled upon her.
"Then you are most decidedly a devil," was his retort, as he stooped to pick up her parasol from the road."There's not much left of it," he remarked, handing it to her.
"As things go, I dare say I ought to be grateful that they spared the spokes," she said impatiently."It does seem disagreeable that I can't go for a short stroll along my own road without the risk of having my clothes torn from my back.You really must keep your horrid beasts from becoming a public danger.""They never chase anything that keeps off my farm," he replied coolly."There's not so well trained a pack anywhere in the county.No other dogs around here could have been beaten back at the death.""I fear that doesn't afford me the gratification you seem to feel--particularly as the death you allude to would have been mine.I suppose I ought to be overpowered with gratitude for the whole thing, but unfortunately I'm not.I have had a very unpleasant experience and I can't help feeling that I owe it to you.""You're welcome to feel about it anyway you please," he responded, as Maria, tucking the dog under her arm, started down the road to the Hall, the tattered parasol held straight above her head.
