g from the day she first stuck on to her
Shetland, when she was three years old. They were both down in time.
Indeed, I question if they went to bed at all, or did any more than
change their ball dresses for their habits. As I lifted Blanche on to
her pet chestnut, I heard Syd telling Cecil that Billiard-ball was
saddled.

"Thank you," said the St. Aubyn, hurriedly. "I need not trouble you.
Sir Horace has promised to mount me."

Vivian bent his head with a strange smile, and sprang on Qui Vive, while
Cecil mounted a showy roan, thorough-bred, the only good horse Cos had
in his stud, despite the thousands he had paid into trainers' and
breeders' pockets.

"Stole away--forward, forward!" screamed Vivian's fellow-member for
Cacklebury; and, holding Qui Vive hard by the head, away went Syd after
the couple or two of hounds that were leading the way over some pasture
land, with an ox-rail at the bottom of it, all the field after him.
Cecil's roan flew over the grass land, and rose at the ox-rail as
steadily as Qui Vive. Blanche's chestnut let himself be kicked along at
no end of a pace, his mistress sitting down in her stirrups as well as
the gallant M. F. H., her father. I never _do_ think of anything but the
hounds flying along in front of me, but I could not help turning my head
over my shoulder to see if she was all right; and I never admired her so
much as when she passed me with a merry laugh: "Five to one I beat you,
monsieur!" Away we went over the dark ploughed lands, and the naked
thorn hedges, the wide straggling briar fences, and the fields covered
with stones and belted with black-looking plantations. Down went Cos
with his horse wallowing helplessly in a ditch, after considerately
throwing him unhurt on the bank. Syd set his teeth as he lifted Qui Vive
over the prostrate baronet, to the imminent danger of that dandy
field-sportsman's life. "Take hold of his head, Miss St. Aubyn," shouted
the M. F. H.; but before the words had passed his lips, Cecil had landed
gallantly a little farther down. Another ten minutes with the hounds
streaming over the country--a ten minutes of wild delight, worth all the
monotonous hours of every-day life--and Qui Vive was alone with the
hounds. We could see him speeding along a quarter of a mile ahead of us,
and Cecil's roan was but half a field behind him. She was "riding
jealous" of one of the best riders in the Queen's; the M. F. H. just in
front of her turned his head once, i