"Cop forard away!" went the ringing formula of the huntsmen. "Cop
forard away!" A long wail on the horn. The covert had been drawn
blank.
Two sharp notes and a halloing. "Yo ho, Tinker! Yo ho! Tim! Forard,
hounds, forard!" And the pack of hounds began to move like a slow wave
toward the distant woodland. The hunt followed at a slow trot....
Her name had been Petronilla, but through the country-side she was
known as Reynardine, partly because of the Irish folk-song she could
sing so well, with its haunting minors, its suggestion of superhuman
music. He could see her slight form still, spiritual, virginal in the
Irish twilight. He could hear her pulsating contralto voice:
"If by chance you look for me
Perhaps you 'll not me find,
For I 'll be in my castle--
Enquire for Reynardine."
No, he would n't look for her, though he knew where she was. She was
in her castle, for sure! Her deep and narrow castle in the ancient,
disused Cistercian monastery where the Fitzpauls buried their dead.
Tier on tier the old Norman-Irish family lay, with their strange names,
Fulke and Gilles, Milo, Tortulf, Bertran. There they lay with their
carved effigies, dogs at their feet and swords at their side--old
Crusaders. There they lay, ancient harriers of the Irish clans, Arnold
and Eudo. There they lay, old peers of the Irish parliament, Robert,
Gerald and Byssak. There lay the newer landlords, Jenico and Maurice.
There they lay, dead as their tradition. There they lay, and be damned
to them, Morgan thought! All there was left of them now was one
daughter, his and Reynardine's, whom he had seen only once, in
swaddling-clothes, and whom, he trusted, he would never see again.
"If by chance you look for me," her song had gone. "Look for you,"
Morgan sneered. "I 'll be in my castle!" "Well, you can stay there,
wife!" he sneered.
He 'd never look for her, even though he could see the monastery where
she slept from where he sat on his horse's back....
They had come to a woodland upwind and the hunt had slowed down to a
walk. The hounds were being urged in by the pink-coated huntsman. He
heard the short note of the huntsman to wake the fox, saw the pack pour
in like a stream....