Presently they come to a check in the road, but it is only for a minute, for Beadsman hits off the line on the far side, over the wall, and across the fallows. Some of the road-riders come up at this moment, and stare blankly at the wall. One, a stranger, seeing a lady, and not knowing who she is, vainly endeavours to open the gate (a low one), which is locked, and thereby prevents anybody else getting over. "Thank you, sir; I think I can manage it," is all Mrs. Talford says in her quiet way, and in another minute the would-be "pew-opener" is greeted with a sight of Queen Bee's hind feet, and the lady has resumed her former place with the hounds. "Well done, Mrs. Colonel!" says old Tom (he always calls her Mrs. Colonel). "We shall show them the road again to-day. It's the old line, straight for Marston. Hold up," to his horse, who dropped his hind legs in a ditch. "Yonder he goes," as he catches sight of the fox making the best of his way up the rising ground in the distance; and, contrary to his usual custom, he catches hold of the hounds and lifts them for nearly half a mile, thereby cutting off a big slice. "Oh Tom, you shouldn't have done that," says Mrs. Talford, as soon as they have settled on to the line again. "They were hunting beautifully." "Don't mean anyone to get in front of the Queen, Mrs. Colonel, this time," is all he vouchsafes as they gallop down a lane, thereby saving their horses, and nicking in again at the corner. A holloa from the right, close in front of the hounds, shows the rest of the field that the end is approaching, and the Melton detachment are riding their hardest to catch the Bullshire lady; but the only men who have as yet succeeded are Mr. Halston, the Master, and old Simms. "It's over the brook, for a hundred, sir," shouts Tom, and he is right. With a splash that sends the water sparkling high in the air, the whole pack dash in, and are away on the other side racing in view. "Surely she's not going to ride at that," men say to each other as Mrs. Talford catches her mare by the head. But she is; and, with Sir John on the one side and the Parson on the other, she skims over like a bird. Old Tom's horse is done, and refuses, but being crammed at it again just gets over with a scramble. The rest ride at it in a body, some in, some over; some think better of it and turn back; but before any but the leading quartet are well over, Sir John's "who-whoop" rings out clear and loud, and tells them that they have again been beaten by "only a woman." THE LADY WHO HUNTS AND DOES NOT RIDE.