They were the huntsmen returning from their unsuccessful run, for she had seen the breathless panting fox an hour before when he crossed the moor and made for his covert on the rocky sides of the cliffs.

Once there, the hunters knew the chase was over.

And there were the tired hounds for a moment appearing at the bare hill-top.

In a few moments they had passed from sight, leaving the moor to its usual solitude and silence.

But surely no! Here was one stray figure who turned towards the cliffs, and, alighting, led her horse down the devious paths between the furze and heather.