‘You had better trot off home,’ said Mrs Bradley kindly. ‘You’ve had a bad shaking. Which way do you think we should go?’ she asked her nephew when the young man had gone, for, beyond the wicket gate, the woodland rides diverged.

‘Let’s follow this one,’ said Jonathan, leading the way. ‘If the fox has gone towards Gracebarrow we’ll probably catch up with the others. The woods there are full of foxes. In fact, there’s a legend, which is certainly borne out by my experience, that when a fox heads for Gracebarrow you may as well give up and go home. It’s very bad going, for one thing, all scrub and uncleared woodland and overhanging branches and bogs and tussocky grass. Still, I think we’ll press on and investigate.’

The narrow path they were following would only allow them to ride in single file. It mounted steadily and surely, and wove in and out among the trees and then through a carpet of bluebell plants.

‘Glorious colour next month,’ said Jonathan, pointing. After about half a mile the character of the woodland began to change. The ride became as wide as a road, the bushes had been cut back, and there was a border of wild anemones and a carpet of dog violets.

Jonathan reined in his mare and his aunt drew level with him. Raising his whip he pointed onwards and upwards, for the slope was still uphill, although now it was very gradual.

‘Let’s gallop,’ he said. ‘We’ve got a mile and a half of this, and it’s simply grand.’

After the sauntering pace at which they had been walked, the horses were ready for a change. The ride became almost level, and the going was better than good. For half a mile the riders thudded along on ground which was soft and easy and yet firm enough to resist the pressure of hoofs.

Jonathan reined in again. The trees had thinned. The riders were on the sky line. Below them, field upon field, was undulating arable and pasture, two or three winding roads, wooded hills and the sun on the beeches.

‘Lovely!’ said Mrs Bradley. ‘What is more, I can see the hounds.’

In the dale between a ploughed field and a dark little copse of firs, the white and tan hounds were speeding across the pasture.

‘Come on!’ said Jonathan. ‘I know a short cut to get down there.’

Jonathan’s short cut did not play them false and was not a severe test for the horses, but by the time he and Mrs Bradley had caught up with the rest of the followers, the hounds were at fault and the run was temporarily checked.

‘Can’t understand this,’ said Jonathan to his aunt. ‘It’s a very sudden check considering how well the hounds were going, and we’re nowhere near Gracebarrow yet.’