'Because the pulling on both sides is not even,' said the Squire of Furzydowns, a noted old sportsman, 'and, if a pair of dogs so coupled come across a donkey, there is sure to be a row, for, when a bullock will look round in stupid wonder, a donkey is apt to fly at hounds with tooth and hoof.' 'A glorious morning this for the scent,' said Sir Harry; 'a dry autumn one. And now let us be off. The advantage of hunting early is that cubs or foxes, after a late supper or early breakfast, are seldom in a condition to run long, and get blown, as we all know.' To Sir Paget, who had neither heart nor interest in sport, and was rapidly discussing the weather in all its probabilities, as to whether there would be a change or continuance of its present aspect and condition, Sir Harry said, 'Puddicombe, are you still determined to ride that bay horse with the white star?' 'Yes,' replied Sir Paget, with just the slightest _soupçon_ of bravado. 'Remember, I have warned you that he is rather a vicious brute, and apt to shy his fences.' 'Please, do not ride him, Sir Paget,' urged Eveline, in a whisper; 'do not, for my sake.' 'I should rather think of my own, if I do it for anyone's sake at all,' he snarled. He could not forgive her the general pallor and sadness of her face. Death, it is said, hallows the dead anew to the living. So it would be with the memory of Evan Cameron in the mind of Eveline, thought Sir Paget bitterly, nor was he far wrong. And, no doubt, it was rather hard upon him to know that his wife's thoughts were all of another; but how innocently! 'As regards the bay horse,' he added, 'I will take my chance.' He was loth to appear unable to do anything, and always deemed such advice as the present an imputation on his age or capability; thus, he did many a thing he would not have done had Eveline been twenty years older. After a few words aside with Sir Harry, Eveline turned again to her husband, who had now left the table, and was finally adjusting his tan-coloured boot-tops. 'Do not ride the horse,' said she, entreatingly. 'From what I hear, he is beyond you.' 'Is he?' snarled Sir Paget, who was in one of his worst humours this morning. 'But let me tell you, Lady Puddicombe, that I know something about the choice of a horse, if I don't about the choice of a wife!' Eveline shrank back at this rude speech, and thought that, sooth to say, he knew little how to choose either. 'Well--ride the horse, if you will,' said she, resignedly. 'I shall!' he replied, sharply. Lucretia detected that something was wrong, and, raising her voice in reply to something the Squire of Furzydown had said, she exclaimed, laughingly,