A bright October morning, with a blue sky and a slight, very slight feeling of frost in the air, and a gay meeting on foot and horseback on the lawn before the Swan's Nest, made as pretty a picture as a painter of such scenes could desire. I say of such scenes, because in the tableau de genre it is the realistic element that must predominate, and the artist's skill is employed in imparting to very commonplace people and costumes whatever poetry can be lent them by light and shade, by happy groupings, and, more than all these, by the insinuation of some incident in which they are the actors,—a sort of storied interest pervading the whole canvas, which gives immense pleasure to those who have little taste for the fine arts.

There was plenty of color even in the landscape. The mountains had put on their autumn suit, and displayed every tint from a pale opal to a deep and gorgeous purple, while the river ran on in those circling eddies which come to the surface of water under sunshine as naturally as smiles to the face of flattered beauty.

Colonel Sewell had invited the country-side to witness hack-races in his grounds, and the country-side had heartily responded to the invitation. There were the county magnates in grand equipages,—an earl with two postilions and outriders, a high sheriff with all his official splendors, squires of lower degree in more composite vehicles, and a large array of jaunting-cars, through all of which figured the red coats of the neighboring garrison, adding to the scene that tint of warmth in color so dear to the painter's heart.

The wonderful beauty of the spot, combining, as it did, heath-clad mountain, and wood, and winding river, with a spreading lake in the distance, dotted with picturesque islands, was well seconded by a glorious autumnal day,—one of those days when the very air has something of champagne in its exhilarating quality, and gives to every breath of it a sense of stimulation.

The first three races—they were on the flat—had gone off admirably. They were well contested, well ridden, and the “right horse” the winner. All was contentment, therefore, on every side, to which the interval of a pleasant moment of conviviality gave hearty assistance, for now came the hour of luncheon; and from the “swells” in the great marquÉe, and the favored intimates in the dining-room, to the assembled unknown in the jaunting-cars, merry laughter issued, with clattering of plates and popping of corks, and those commingled sounds of banter and jollity which mark such gatherings.

The great event of the day was, however, yet to come off. It was a hurdle race, to which two stiff fences were to be added, in the shape of double ditches, to test the hunting powers of the horses. The hurdles were to be four feet eight in height, so that the course was by no means a despicable one, even to good cross-country riders. To give increased interest to the race, Sewell himself was to ride, and no small share of eagerness existed amongst the neighboring gentry to see how the new-comer would distinguish himself in the saddle,—some opining he was too long of leg; some, that he was too heavy; some, that men of his age—he was over five-and-thirty—begin to lose nerve; and many going so far as to imply “that he did not look like riding,”—a judgment whose vagueness detracts nothing from its force.

“There he goes now, and he sits well down too!” cried one, as a group of horsemen swept past, one of whom, mounted on a “sharp” pony, led the way, a white macintosh and loose overalls covering him from head to foot. They were off to see that the fences were all being properly put up, and in an instant were out of sight.

“I'll back Tom Westenra against Sewell for a twenty-pound note,” cried one, standing up on the seat of his car to proclaim the challenge.

“I'll go further,” shouted another,—“I 'll do it for fifty.”

“I 'll beat you both,” cried out a third,—“I 'll take Tom even against the field.”

The object of all this enthusiasm was a smart, cleanshaven little fellow, with a good blue eye, and a pleasant countenance, who smoked his cigar on the seat of a drag near, and nodded a friendly recognition to their confidence.

“If Joe Slater was well of his fall, I 'd rather have him than any one in the county,” said an old farmer, true to a man of his own class and standing.

“Here's one can beat them both!” shouted another; “here's Mr. Creagh of Liskmakerry!” and a thin, ruddy-faced, keen-eyed man of about fifty rode by on a low-sized horse, with that especial look of decision in his mouth, and a peculiar puckering about the corners that seem to belong to those who traffic in horse-flesh, and who, it would appear, however much they may know about horses, understand humanity more thoroughly still.

“Are you going to ride, Creagh?” cried a friend from a high tax-cart.

“Maybe so, if the fences are not too big for me;” and a very malicious drollery twinkled in his gray eye.

“Faix, and if they are,” said a farmer, “the rest may stay at home.”

“I hope you 'll ride, Creagh,” said the first speaker, “and not let these English fellows take the shine out of us. Yourself and Tom are the only county names on the card.”

“Show it to me,” said Creagh, listlessly; and he took the printed list in his hand and conned it over, as though it had all been new to him. “They 're all soldiers, I see,” said he. “It's Major This, and Captain That—Who is the lady?” This question was rapidly called forth by a horsewoman who rode past at an easy canter in the midst of a group of men. She was dressed in a light-gray habit and hat of the same color, from which a long white feather encircling the hat hung on one side.

“That's Mrs. Sewell,—what do you think of her riding?”

“If her husband has as neat a hand, I 'd rather he was out of the course. She knows well what she 's about.”

“They say there's not her equal in the park in London.”

“That's not park riding; that's something very different, take my word for it. She could lead half the men here across the country.”

Nor was she unworthy of the praise, as, with her hand low, her head a little forward, but her back well curved in, she sat firmly down in her saddle; giving to the action of the horse that amount of movement that assisted the animal, but never more. The horse was mettlesome enough to require all her attention. It was his first day under a sidesaddle, and he chafed at it, and when the heavy skirt smote his flank, bounded with a lunge and a stroke of his head that showed anger.

“That's a four-hundred guinea beast she 's on. He belongs to the tall young fellow that's riding on her left.”

“I like his own horse better,—the liver-chestnut with the short legs. I wish I had a loan of him for the hurdle-race.”

“Ask him, Phil; or get the mistress there to ask him,” said another, laughing. “I 'm mighty mistaken or he wouldn't refuse her.”

“Oh, is that it?” said Creagh, with a knowing look.

“So they tell me here, for I don't know one of them myself; but the story goes that she was to have married that young fellow when Sewell earned her off.”

“I must go and get a better look at her,” said Creagh, as he spurred his horse and cantered away.

“Is any one betting?” said little Westenra, as he descended from his seat on the drag. “I have not seen a man to-day with five pounds on the race.”

“Here's Sewell,” muttered another; “he's coming up now, and will give or take as much as you like.”

“Did you see Mrs. Sewell, any of you?” asked Sewell, cavalierly, as he rode up with an open telegram in his hand; and as the persons addressed were for the most part his equals, none responded to the insolent demand.

“Could you tell me, sir,” said Sewell, quickly altering his tone, while he touched his hat to Westenra, “if Mrs. Sewell passed this way?”

“I haven't the honor to know Mrs. Sewell, but I saw a lady ride past, about ten minutes ago, on a black thoroughbred.”

“Faix, and well she rode him too,” broke in an old farmer.

“She took the posy out of that young gentleman's button-hole, while her beast was jumping, and stuck it in her breast, as easy as I 'm sitting here.”

Sewel's face grew purple as he darted a look of savage anger at the speaker, and, turning his horse's head, he dashed out at speed and disappeared.

“Peter Delaney,” said Westenra, “I thought you had more discretion than to tell such a story as that.”

“Begorra, Mister Tom! I didn't know the mischief I was making till I saw the look he gave me!”

It was not till after a considerable search that Sewell came up with his wife's party, who were sauntering leisurely along the river-side, through a gorse-covered slope.

“I 've had a devil of a hunt after you!” he cried, as he rode up, and the ringing tone of his voice was enough to intimate to her in what temper he spoke. “I 've something to say to you,” said he, as though meant for her private ear; and the others drew back, and suffered them to ride on together. “There 's a telegram just come from that old beast the Chief Baron; he desires to see me to-night. The last train leaves at five, and I shall only hit it by going at once. Can't you keep your horse quiet, Madam, or must you show off while I 'm speaking to you?”

“It was the furze that stung him,” said she, coldly, and not showing the slightest resentment at his tone.

“If the old bear means anything short of dying, and leaving me his heir, this message is a shameful swindle.”

“Do you mean to go?” asked she, coldly.

“I suppose so; that is,” added he, with a bitter grin, “if I can tear myself away from you;” but she only smiled.

“I 'll have to pay a forfeit in this match,” continued he, “and my book will be all smashed, besides. I say,” cried he, “would Trafford ride for me?”

“Perhaps he would.”

“None of your mock indifference, Madam. I can't afford to lose a thousand pounds every time you have a whim. Ay, look astonished if you like! but if you had n't gone into the billiard-room on Saturday evening and spoiled my match, I 'd have escaped that infernal whist-table. Listen to me now! Tell him that I have been sent for suddenly,—it might be too great a risk for me to refuse to go,—and ask him to ride Crescy; if he says Yes,—and he will say yes if you ask him as you ought,”—her cheek grew crimson as he uttered the last word with a strong emphasis,—“tell him to take up my book. Mind you use the words 'take up;' he'll understand you.”

“But why not say all this yourself?—he 's riding close behind at this minute.”

“Because I have a wife, Madam, who can do it so much better; because I have a wife who plucks a carnation out of a man's coat, and wears it in her bosom, and this on an open race-course, where people can talk of it! and a woman with such rare tact ought to be of service to her husband, eh?” She swayed to and fro in her saddle for an instant as though about to fall, but she grasped the horn with both hands and saved herself.

“Is that all?” muttered she, faintly.

“Not quite. Tell Trafford to come round to my dressing-room, and I 'll give him a hint or two about the horse. He must come at once, for I have only time to change my clothes and start. You can make some excuse to the people for my absence; say that the old Judge has had another attack, and I only wish it may be true. Tell them I got a telegram, and that may mean anything. Trafford will help you to do the honors, and I 'll swear him in as viceroy before I go. Is n't that all that could be asked of me?” The insolence of his look as he said this made her turn away her head as though sickened and disgusted.

“They want you at the weighing-stand, Colonel Sewell,” said a gentleman, riding up.

“Oh, they do! Well, say, please, that I 'm coming. Has he given you that black horse?” asked he, in a hurried whisper.

“No; he offered him, but I refused.”

“You had no right to refuse; he's strong enough to carry me; and the ponies that I saw led round to the stable-yard, whose are they?”

“They are Captain Trafford's.”

“You told him you thought them handsome, I suppose, didn't you?”

“Yes, I think them very beautiful.”

“Well, don't take them as a present. Win them if you like at piquet or ÉcartÉ,—any way you please, but don't take them as a gift, for I heard Westenra say they were meant for you.”

She nodded; and as she bent her head, a smile, the very strangest, crossed her features. If it were not that the pervading expression of her face was at the instant melancholy, the look she gave him would have been almost devilish.

“I have something else to say, but I can't remember it.”

“You don't know when you'll be back?” asked she, carelessly.

“Of course not,—how can I? I can only promise that I'll not arrive unexpectedly, Madam; and I take it that's as much as any gentleman can be called on to say. Bye-bye.”

“Good-bye,” said she, in the same tone.

“I see that Mr. Balfour is here. I can't tell who asked him; but mind you don't invite him to luncheon; take no notice of him whatever; he'll not bet a guinea; never plays; never risks anything,—even his affections!”

“What a creature!”

“Isn't he! There! I'll not detain you from pleasanter company; good-bye; see you here when I come back, I suppose?”

“Most probably,” said she, with a smile; and away he rode, at a tearing gallop, for his watch warned him that he was driven to the last minute.

“My husband has been sent for to town, Captain Traf-ford,” said she, turning her head towards him as he resumed his place at her side; “the Chief Baron desires to see him immediately, and he sets off at once.”

“And his race? What 's to become of his match?”

“He said I was to ask you to ride for him.”

“Me—I ride! Why, I am two stone heavier than he is.”

“I suppose he knew that,” said she, coldly, and as if the matter was one of complete indifference to her. “I am only delivering a message,” continued she, in the same careless tone; “he said, 'Ask Captain Trafford to ride for me and take up my book; 'I was to be particular about the phrase 'take up;' I conclude you will know what meaning to attach to it.”

“I suspect I do,” said he, with a low soft laugh.

“And I was to add something about hints he was to give you, if you 'd go round to his dressing-room at once; indeed, I believe you have little time to spare.”

“Yes, I'll go,—I 'll go now; only there 's one thing I 'd like to ask—that is—I'd be very glad to know—”

“What is it?” said she, after a pause, in which his confusion seemed to increase with every minute.

“I mean, I should like to know whether you wished me to ride this race or not?”

“Whether I wished it?” said she, in a tone of astonishment.

“Well, whether you cared about the matter one way or other?” replied he, in still deeper embarrassment.

“How could it concern me, my dear Captain Trafford?” said she, with an easy smile; “a race never interests me much, and I 'd just as soon see Blue and Orange come in as Yellow and Black; but you 'll be late if you intend to see my husband; I think you 'd better make haste.”

“So I will, and I 'll be back immediately,” said he, not sorry to escape a scene where his confusion was now making him miserable.

“You are a very nice horse!” said she, patting the animal's neck, as he chafed to dash off after the other. “I 'd like very much to own you; that is, if I ever was to call anything my own.”

“They 're clearing the course, Mrs. Sewell,” said one of her companions, riding up; “we had better turn off this way, and ride down to the stand.”

“Here's a go!” cried another, coming up at speed. “Big Trafford is going to ride Crescy; he 's well-nigh fourteen stone.”

“Not thirteen: I 'll lay a tenner on it.”

“He can ride a bit,” said a third.

“I 'd rather he 'd ride his own horse than mine.”

“Sewell knows what he 's about, depend on 't.”

“That's his wife,” whispered another; “I'm certain she heard you.”

Mrs. Sewell turned her head as she cantered along, and, in the strange smile her features wore, seemed to confirm the speaker's words; but the hurry and bustle of the moment drowned all sense of embarrassment, and the group dashed onward to the stand.

Leaving that heaving, panting, surging tide of humanity for an instant, let us turn to the house, where Sewell was already engaged in preparing for the road.

“You are going to ride for me, Trafford?” said Sewell, as the other entered his dressing-room, where, with the aid of his servant, he was busily packing up for the road.

“I 'm not sure; that is, I don't like to refuse, and I don't see how to accept.”

“My wife has told you; I 'm sent for hurriedly.”

“Yes.”

“Well?” said he, looking round at him from his task.

“Just as I have told you already; I 'd ride for you as well as a heavy fellow could take a light-weight's place, but I don't understand about your book—am I to stand your engagements?”

“You mean, are you to win all the money I'm sure to pocket on the match?”

“No, I don't mean that,” said he, laughing; “I never thought of trading on another man's brains; I simply meant, am I to be responsible for the losses?”

“If you ride Crescy as you ought to ride him, you needn't fret about the losses?”

“But suppose that I do not—and the case is a very possible one—that, not knowing your horse—”

“Take this portmanteau down, Bob, and the carpet-bag; I shall only lose my train,” said Sewell, with a gesture of hot impatience; and as the servant left the room, he added: “Pray don't think any more about this stupid race; scratch Crescy, and tell my wife that it was a change of mind on “my” part,—that I did not wish you to ride; good-bye;” and he waved a hasty adieu with his hand, as though to dismiss him at once.

“If you 'll let me ride for you, I 'll do my best,” blundered out Trafford; “when I spoke of your engagements, it was only to prepare you for what perhaps you were not aware of, that I 'm not very well off just now, and that if anything like a heavy sum—”

“You are a most cautious fellow; I only wonder how you ever did get into a difficulty; but I 'm not the man to lead you astray, and wreck such splendid principles; adieu!”

“I 'll ride, let it end how it may!” said Trafiford, angrily, and left the room at once, and hurried downstairs.

Sewell gave a parting look at himself in the glass; and as he set his hat jauntily on one side, said, “There 's nothing like a little mock indignation to bully fellows of his stamp; the keynote of their natures is the dread of being thought mean, and particularly of being thought mean by a woman.” He laughed pleasantly at this conceit, and went on his way.