"Believe me, sir, I knew not that it was you," she resumed, colouring deeply, and casting down her eyes (how fair her soft loveliness looked by day!). "I saw but a horseman before me, and could not resist the temptation of passing him." "Nor could I resist the desire of accepting your very palpable challenge," I replied, just as the valet came up, fearfully blown, and in his crimsoned face I recognised the features of the valiant Mr. John Trot. "But I was not altogether trying a race with you," said the young lady, still blushing deeply, and beginning to move her horse away; "I was riding fast to overtake mamma, who is in yonder carriage. She is come to drink the waters of Ashted Spa, and I doubt not will be glad to tender you once again her thanks." With these words, and with an air that seemed to say, "This interview, or this mistake, has lasted long enough," she bowed and urged her horse towards the carriage, which was standing about fifty paces distant on the high road, and from a window of which I saw a lady observing us. The young girl's figure showed to perfection on horseback, and her riding-habit, which was of light green cloth, trimmed with narrow gold braid, suited well her blonde beauty and golden-coloured hair. She wore a broad black beaver hat, from which a single ostrich feather drooped gracefully on her left shoulder. Loosened by the roughness of the gallop, her soft hair flowed over her neck in silky ripples--I know no more fitting term--of light golden brown, that glittered in the sunshine. Her riding-gauntlets were of yellow leather, and her hands, as they grasped the reins and riding-switch, seemed small, compact, and beautifully formed. "I thought we had lost you, madcap!" said her mamma, with annoyance in her tone and manner; "what caused you to gallop thus along the Downs, as if riding a race?" "I was running something very like it, certainly, mamma; but do you not see that we have been overtaken by--the--the gentleman who saved us from robbery last night?" "I am hastening back to Portsmouth, madam," said I, with a profound salute. "In my ignorance of the country I have taken the road to Epsom instead of that which leads to Cobham, and to this mistake I owe the good fortune of meeting with you again." "You had not time, probably, to visit us before leaving town this morning?" said she. "I had the mischance, madam, to lose your card." At that moment, a man of sinister aspect, and shabbily attired, but with holsters at his saddle, looked fixedly at us, as he rode slowly past, on a bald-faced bay horse. His _left_ hand was bound up by a red handkerchief, and, consequently, he held the reins of his bridle with the _right_. He glared at me, with a glance of such undisguised ferocity, that I had not a doubt he was the wounded rascal of last night's adventure--the same man, he of the snuff-coloured suit and steel buttons, whom I had seen with the skittle players in the suburbs of London. Was he dogging me?