"
The serf was about to reply, when the clear ringing call of a
bugle burst from the wood close behind them, and Alleyne caught
sight for an instant of the dun side and white breast of a lordly
stag glancing swiftly betwixt the distant tree trunks. A minute
later came the shaggy deer-hounds, a dozen or fourteen of them,
running on a hot scent, with nose to earth and tail in air. As
they streamed past the silent forest around broke suddenly into
loud life, with galloping of hoofs, crackling of brushwood, and
the short, sharp cries of the hunters. Close behind the pack
rode a fourrier and a yeoman-pricker, whooping on the laggards
and encouraging the leaders, in the shrill half-French jargon
which was the language of venery and woodcraft. Alleyne was
still gazing after them, listening to the loud "Hyke-a-Bayard!
Hyke-a-Pomers! Hyke-a-Lebryt!" with which they called upon their
favorite hounds, when a group of horsemen crashed out through the
underwood at the very spot where the serf and he were standing.
The one who led was a man between fifty and sixty years of age,
war-worn and weather-beaten, with a broad, thoughtful forehead
and eyes which shone brightly from under his fierce and overhung
brows.
Pages:
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161