re
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? No, the mare!' shouted Mr. George, and bolted off, no longer to be
restrained.

The Countess, doubly relieved, threw herself back in the carriage,
and Andrew drew a breath, saying: 'Evan has beat him--I saw that! The
other's horse swerved right round.'

'I fear,' said Mrs. Evremonde, 'Mr. Harrington has had a fall. Don't be
alarmed--it may not be much.'

'A fall!' exclaimed the Countess, equally divided between alarms of
sisterly affection and a keen sense of the romance of the thing.

Miss Carrington ordered the carriage to be driven round. They had not
gone far when they were met by Harry Jocelyn riding in hot haste, and he
bellowed to the coachman to drive as hard as he could, and stop opposite
Brook's farm.

The scene on the other side of the fence would have been a sweet one to
the central figure in it had his eyes then been open. Surrounded by Lady
Jocelyn, Drummond, Seymour, and the rest, Evan's dust-stained body was
stretched along the road, and his head was lying in the lap of Rose,
who, pale, heedless of anything spoken by those around her, and with her
lips set and her eyes turning wildly from one to the other, held a gory
handkerchief to his temple with one hand, and with the other felt for
the motion of his heart.

But heroes don't die, you know.

CHAPTER XXI. TRIBULATIONS AND TACTICS OF THE COUNTESS

'You have murdered my brother, Rose Jocelyn!'

'Don't say so now.'

Such was the interchange between the two that loved the senseless youth,
as he was being lifted into the carriage.

Lady Jocelyn sat upright in her saddle, giving directions about what was
to be done with Evan and the mare, impartially.

'Stunned, and a good deal shaken, I suppose; Lymport's knees are
terribly cut,' she said to Drummond, who merel