coming and showing them the way. My cousin is a quiet young fellow, but even he can get his blood up when the honour of the Kildares' are at stake. Some of the Curragh men had given out that they were to ride against the hunt, so Corny primed himself-not with water, you know-and went to the meet in a terrible humour. They found directly, took straight over the country, and after a run of twenty minutes, the field came to a check before Donada Park wall. What are you staring at?' shouted Corney; 'it isn't a bit of a mud dyke like that'll stop a Kildare man. Whoo!' You know an Irish yell, Mr. Weymouth? I dare not risk one here, in case I frighten the colonel ;" and she looked over her shoulder towards that gentleman, riding rather moodily along, some hundred yards behind Charley Elmes and Roger, both of whom were in fits of suppressed laughter. "Well, suppose the yell uttered, and simultaneously over flew the Kildare man, to the music of a cheer such as few of the dragoons had ever heard before."

Willy didn't remember the O'Dowd or the wall, but of course he ought to do so, and not to know arguing himself unknown, he smiled. "Very good jump, Miss Boyle, but nothing to what I've seen done in the west. When I was down there with a cousin of mine, quartered at Limerick, it wasn't thought a day's work without half-a-dozen such jumps."

Char opened her black eyes, and, under pretence of having dropped her pocket-handkerchief, whispered to Roger

"It's fourteen foot solid masonry, if it's an inch; he's beyond me entirely. Let me ride with you; he's too barefaced. He believes

himself."

But Willy was not going to let the subject drop; he wanted to shine in the Irish lady's estimation, and returned to the charge.

"We had a good day with the Queen's County when I was in Kildare, and I don't know but that I like the management there better than the way Lord Naas does it."

"Do you really? I cannot agree with you, but then you know I may be prejudiced; I daresay you had some good jumping in the Queen's County."

"Yes; the meet was at a place called Durrow, I think, and found at a hill side; I forget the name, but the fox took us in a straight to Coole, and then back to Russelstown. I was on a young beast without a shadow of a mouth, and thinking she ought to know the manners of her country better than I did, I tied the curb bridle in a knot, and let her mind her own business; and very neatly she did it, leading the whole way and jumping right into a cabin, as a finish up. I felt the thatch springing up all round me like a cloud, and had just time to hear no end of screaming and squealing, when, with a snort, as much as to say she didn't like that sort of thing any more than I did, the mare

clambered up the bank again, and landed me in just as the hounds ran into their fox. You should have heard the laughter when I told them my adventure, and the sagacity of the mare; she sold for £300, on the strength of it, and I found out that she had been voted such a brute before that no one dare ride her. You see," added Willy, with an affectation of modesty that was beautiful to witness, and almost too much for Miss Boyle's gravity, "Miss Wimborne, no one told me she pulled, though of course I'd have ridden her all the same. Hunting, you know, is like fighting-the spice of danger adds to the charm."

"I am so sorry you are giving up the pleasure on my account," said Silvia, "I do wish you would let me look after myself. I assure you, with the old groom to take care of me, I am quite safe."

"Not going to follow, Mr. Weymouth?" cried Char, breaking in so as to stop the pretty speech Willy was meditating. "You don't mean to tell us that you are too good for Sussex, and despise the downs ? Mr. Wimborne, surely you won't allow that!"

"Upon my word, Miss Boyle, it's not my fault. It is too bad of Weymouth; he evidently looks down upon us."

"No, no, I assure you, Roger, you are quite wrong," protested Willy, quite elated by the compliments implied. "I've often heard of Wyndam's hounds, and longed to have a day with you; but I have promised to take care of Miss Wimborne, and even a day's hunting must give way in such presence."

Willy pulled his long white moustache and looked killing; poor Silvia blushed up to the eyes, but, nevertheless, spoke up with more spirit than her brother gave her credit for.

"Then, as it lies with me, Mr. Weymouth, I desire that you will waive all ceremony, and relieve me from the responsibility of spoiling the day's sport."

Char Boyle couldn't have done it better herself; and although she whispered, on the first occasion, "don't lose temper, Silvia, when you are taking such a puppy down again," she openly applauded, and ever after stood honestly up for Silvia. As for Willy, he actually coloured; he saw he had put his foot in it somehow, and that there was something beyond ladylike chaff in the ring of Miss Wimborne's voice; but what was even more to the purpose, she had swept away at one stroke all his well planned line of action; she had told him before half-a-dozen of his tormentors that she did not want his attendance-and these same tormentors, when they saw him down, were cowardly enough to take advantage, led on by that "dreadful Irish girl," as Willy was wont in after times to style Miss Boyle.

"Now then, Mr. Weymouth, you see how self-denying Sussex ladies are; they have the honour of the field more at heart than one gives them credit for, and after such magnanimity the least you can do is to

present Silvia with the brush, mounted with a silver handle; there's a man in the Strand does them beautifully, I'll send you his address."

"You'll have no trouble with the horse, Willy," put in Roger; "he pulls a little at first, and don't like having the go-by given him, but after the first few fences he'll settle down as quiet as a lamb, and it won't be his fault if you don't see the best of the run."

"He pulls, does he?" muttered Willy; who, now there was no escape, was screwing up his pluck, and ransacking his brains as to any possible accident which might release him from his present situation.

"Yes, a little; keep him in hand, you know.”

"Forewarned, forearmed, Mr. Weymouth, which is more than you could say in my country," said Miss Boyle, with a gentle smile-but such a mocking devil in her wild eyes, that Willy half suspected she meant mischief; but they had reached the slope up to the cover-side, and down a lane on the right could see the pack coming up, clustering in close order, led on by Squires; a length or two in front rode the Colonel, and a couple of strangers, one of whom Willy recognised as a kinsman, and wished anywhere rather than in Sussex, just then; returning his salutation with rather a sulky nod.

"Ah, Willy-come down to astonish the natives? Who is mounting you? Oh, Mr. Wimborne," and he bowed to Roger; then, catching sight of Char Boyle's face, his own flushed a deep red, and pushing past Weymouth, he had her hand in his, and was whispering something in her ear, before his cousin got settled in his saddle, after the cannon his horse had made against Mr. Kilkee's.

"I never thought to see you here," Char was saying; "when did you come back?”

"A week ago; I dared not go over to Ireland until I heard you—but tell me where you are staying? Fate has helped me, and I must have an explanation now."

"I'll introduce you to the Colonel. Colonel Babbington, may I introduce an old friend and neighbour of ours, to you? Mr. Kilkee, Colonel Babbington."

"Kilkee of the Turret ?" said the Colonel, holding out his hand. "Right glad am I to make your acquaintance; I knew your mother, sir, in days gone by, and hope if you are staying down here you will come over and join our shooting party at Wellingford, to-morrow, or any day you like."

"I had no idea Mr. Weymouth was a relation of yours," went on Char, as Mr. Kilkee dropped back and joined her; "I am afraid I have been quizzing him."

"Nothing very new on your part, is it? and will do Willy no harm'; he wants taking down, and if you can do that, you'll do the family a good turn."

Willy meanwhile was fidgeting, glancing furtively at the landscape, meditating as to the line likely to be taken by the fox, and considering whether it was not practicable to break a stirrup-leather during the first burst; the field was a large one, and Willy, recognising several faces, grew still more uneasy; he did not like the look of things at all, and pulled aside out of the crowd, with the vague idea of getting behind a hedge, and missing the burst.

They were all too busy to take heed of his movements; Roger was talking to his cousin Clara, Charley Elmes had got near Silvia, and though scarcely talking, was listening while she talked; so Willy pulled out his penknife, and getting hold of the stirrup-leather, sawed away to his satisfaction, and a grin was under his moustache as he replaced his knife.

Suddenly a long clear note from one of the hounds made everyone turn towards the cover; not a word was spoken, not an eye but strained and kindled; Squires came round the low bank, saying, in a suppressed voice, as he passed

"Broken at the East End, first rate line. Don't hurry, gentlemen." Then there was mounting, gathering of reins, and cramming down of hats and caps, horses trembling and throwing off great flakes of foam from the glossy neck where the chafing reins worked the sweat into a froth; sometimes a horse would lash out, then another would stand upon his hind legs, as if rearing would hasten matters; presently, Squires came crashing over the cover-dyke, cap in hand, waving the hounds on, and encouraging their spirits by the usual-" Cop away, cop," muttered rather than said.

"Let him go, Willy," sang out Roger, as the black horse rose pawing the air with his fore feet, and coming down with his head between his knees, sent his heels nearly as high as his head had been. "Give him his head, he'll be quiet directly."

Willy thought of the stirrup-leather and cursed his fate; if he gave the brute his head he would be thrown at the first fence, if he held him in he would have every bone in his body broken. The choice seemed much like that known as "between the devil and the deep sea." Sooner or later, look at it either way, he must come to grief-his prestige would be gone.

Willy had no mind to be run away with, and perhaps landed at the bottom of a chalk-pit, so he held on like grim death as long as he could; but at last, infuriated by resistance, the horse, none of the besttempered, threw himself forward, wrenched the reins nearly out of Willy's hands, and getting his head down hill, gave himself a shake and took it all his own way.

A double hedge and slushy-looking ditch lay a few hundred yards forward on the even; the black horse rose and cleared it like a bird, but

the strain upon the stirrup-leather finished the work, and, in spreadeagle fashion, sprawling arms and legs, the hapless clerk took a header into slimy green water, rising presently with a grotesque head-dress of duck-weed, or, as some one remarked, mounting green picked out with buff.

"Take my horse, sir," said a young man, who had pulled up. “I'll catch Mr. Wimborne's."

"All right, Morgan," roared Roger, passing. "Willy, take him at his word; he's one of the best riders in Sussex, and his father keeps the best horses. Give the black brute a good bucketing, Harry.”

"She's as gentle as a lamb, sir," whispered Morgan.

And then Willy, with rather a dubious look in the direction taken by the black horse, got up, thanked his new friend, and wished him luck with "the brute."

"He want's taking down, sir. I've ridden him before, too; and," he added, when Willy was out of hearing, "and, as I don't care to be one of the tailors, I'll ride him again."

And Willy, albeit thoroughly disgusted, submitted to his fate, mentally deciding that it would be a long time before the Sussex downs saw him again.

The first burst lasted about fifteen minutes, and when they ran to ground in a drain about a mile from Wellingford, Willy was nowhere, and Roger's horse having lost a shoe in the last field, Colonel Babbington advised him to get down to his house, where he would find a mount, and let one of the grooms take his own horse home.

Lilly Babbington, as we have said, was not out; Clara said she had pleaded a headache, but looked quite well, and that the headache was only an excuse to stay at home; Roger, remembering the scene under the sunset sky, thought it might be, and, as he led his horse along the identical green lane, he stopped at the turn, and, looking back, tried to bring the figure of Lilly's mysterious friend before his mind's eye.

The conviction that had come upon him that night, when he discovered the likeness Gerald Guest bore to his brother, had been one of those flashes that, by rendering darkness visible, leave us groping more blindly than ever.

When Gerald came down to breakfast, he had fashioned the trim of his hair and whiskers as nearly in their familiar habit as circumstances would permit, and Roger, looking for the likeness (as is usually the way when we are bent upon discovering some corresponding feature) saw it not, and the suspicion which reflection and a night's rest had shown to be very wild and improbable, and altogether unlikely, had faded away. He had thought no more of it until the present hour, when the surrounding objects brought it vividly before him.