Croftlands again, Mr. George.'

'Gad, he'll have to come a long distance--poor old Mel!' said Mr. George;
and was going on, when Seymour Jocelyn stroked his moustache to cry,
'Look! Rosey 's starting 'em, by Jove!'

The leap, which did not appear formidable from where they stood, was four
fields distant from the point where Rose, with a handkerchief in her
hand, was at that moment giving the signal to Laxley and Evan.

Miss Carrington and the Countess begged Lady Jocelyn to order a shout to
be raised to arrest them, but her ladyship marked her good sense by
saying: 'Let them go, now they're about it'; for she saw that to make a
fuss now matters had proceeded so far, was to be uncivil to the
inevitable.

The start was given, and off they flew. Harry Jocelyn, behind them, was
evidently caught by the demon, and clapped spurs to his horse to have his
fling as well, for the fun of the thing; but Rose, farther down the
field, rode from her post straight across him, to the imminent peril of a
mutual overset; and the party on the height could see Harry fuming, and
Rose coolly looking him down, and letting him understand what her will
was; and her mother, and Drummond, and Seymour who beheld this, had a
common sentiment of admiration for the gallant girl. But away went the
rivals. Black Lymport was the favourite, though none of the men thought
he would be put at the fence. The excitement became contagious. The
Countess threw up her veil. Lady Jocelyn, and Seymour, and Drummond,
galloped down the lane, and Mr. George was for accompanying them, till
the line of Miss Carrington's back gave him her unmistakeable opinion of
such a course of conduct, and he had to dally and fret by her side.
Andrew's arm was tightly grasped by the Countess. The rivals were
crossing the second field, Laxley a little a-head.

'He 's holding in the black mare--that fellow!' said Mr. George. 'Gad, it
looks like going at the fence. Fancy Harrington!'

They were now in the fourth field, a smooth shorn meadow. Laxley was two
clear lengths in advance, but seemed riding, as Mr. George remarked, more
for pace than to take the jump. The ladies kept plying random queries and
suggestions: the Countess wishing to know whether they could not be
stopped by a countryman before they encountered any danger. In the midst
of their chatter, Mr. George rose in his stirrups, crying:

'Bravo, the black mare!'

'Has he done it?' said Andrew, wiping his poll.

'He? N