crept out quietly after the beaters had passed. Wargrave, filled with
excitement, struck spurs to his mount and raced after her, soon catching
up and passing her. Over the sand pitted with holes and strewn with
loose stones they raced, the boar bounding before them with rocking
motion and leading them in a long, stern chase. Again and again the
beast swerved; but at last with a fierce thrill Wargrave felt the steel
head of the spear strike home in the quarry. As he was carried on past
it he withdrew the weapon, then pulled his panting horse round. The boar
was checked; but the wound only infuriated him and aroused his fighting
ardour. He dashed at Mrs. Norton; but, as Frank turned, the game brute
recognised the more dangerous adversary, and with a fierce grunt charged
savagely at him. Wargrave plunged his spurs into his horse, which sprang
forward, just clearing the boar's snout, as the rider leant well out and
speared the pig through the heart. Then with a wild, exultant whoop the
subaltern swung round in the saddle and saw the animal totter forward
and collapse on the sand. Only a sportsman could realise his feeling of
triumph at the fall of his first boar.

Mrs. Norton was almost as excited as he, her sparkling eyes and face
flushed a becoming pink, making her even prettier in his eyes as she
rode up and congratulated him.

"Well done, Mr. Wargrave!" she cried, trotting up to where he sat on his
panting horse over the dead boar. "You did that splendidly! And the very
first time you've been out pigsticking, too!"

"It was just luck," replied the subaltern modestly, not ill-pleased at
her praise.

"What a glorious run he gave us!" she continued. "And we had it all to