but roused. Tears came into Ella's eyes.
She went up to her friend and said—"Oh,
Violet, how cruel you are!"

Launcelot saw this little bye-scene. He
was a man and a spoilt child in one; and
hated pity on the one side, as much as
interference on the other. So poor Ella did not
advance herself much in his eyes by her
championship. On the contrary, he felt more
humiliated by her tears than by Violet's
rebukes: and, drawing himself up proudly,
he said to Violet, as if he were giving away a
kingdom, "If you please we will ride to-day."

"Bravo! bravo, Cousin Launce!" Violet
left the lovers together, hoping they would
improve the opportunity; but Ella was too
well bred, and Launcelot was too cold; and
they only called each other Miss Limple
and Mr. Chumley, and observed it was very
fine weather; which was the general extent
of their love-making.

They arrived at the stable in time to hear
some of Violet's candid criticisms. "That
cob's off-fetlock wants looking to. The
stupid groom! whoever saw a beast's head
tied up like that? Why he wasn't a crib-
biter, was he?" and with a "Wo-ho, poor
fellow! steady there, steady!" Violet went
dauntlessly up to the big carriage horse's
head, and loosened the strain of his halter
before Launcelot knew what she was about.
She was in her element. She wandered in and
out of the stalls, and did not mind how much
the horses fidgetted; nor, even if they turned
themselves sideways as if they meant to
crush her against the manger. Launcelot
thought all this vulgar beyond words; and
he thought Ella Limple, who stood just at
the door and looked frightened, infinitely
the superior of the two ladies; and thanked
his good star again that had risen on Ella
and not on Violet. Violet chose the biggest
and the most spirited horse of all, Ella
selecting an old grey that was as steady as
a camel, and both went into the house to
dress for their ride. When they came back,
even Launcelot—very much disapproving of
Amazons in general—could not but confess
that they made a beautiful pair. Ella so
fair and graceful, and Violet so full of life
and beauty. He was obliged to allow that
she was beautiful; but of course not so
beautiful as Ella. With this thought he threw
himself cleverly into the saddle, and off the
three started; Ella holding her pummel very
tightly.

They ambled down the avenue together;
but, when they got a short distance on the
road, Violet raised herself in the saddle; and,
waving her small hand lost in its white
gauntlets, darted off; tearing along the road,
till she became a mere speck in the distance.
Launcelot's blood came up into his face.
Something stirred his heart, strung his
nerves up to their natural tone, and made
him envy and long and hate and admire all in
a breath.

He turned to Ella and said hurriedly,
"Shall we ride faster, Miss Limple?"

"If you please," answered Ella, timidly;
"but I can't ride very fast, you know."

Launcelot bit his lip. "Oh, I remember;
yet I hate to see women riding like jockeys;
you are quite right;" but he fretted his
horse, and frowned. Then he observed very
loudly, "Violet Tudor is a very vulgar little
girl."

After a time Violet came back; her black
horse foaming, his head well up, his neck
arched, his large eyes wild and bright: she
flushed, animated, bright; full of life and
health. Launcelot sat negligently on his
bay—one hand on the crupper as lazy men
do sit on horseback—walking slowly. Ella's
dozing grey hanging down his head and
sleeping, with the flies settling on his
twinkling pink eyelids.

"Dearest Violet, I thought you would
have been killed," said Ella; "what made
you rush away in that manner?"

"And what made you both ride as if you
were in a procession, and were afraid of
trampling on the crowd?" retorted Violet.
"Cousin Launcelot, you are something
wonderful. A strong man like you to ride in
that manner. Are you made of jelly that
would break if shaken? For shame. Have
a canter. Your bay won't beat my black;
although my black is blown and your mare is
fresh." Violet gave the bay a smart cut
with her whip, which sent it off at a hand
gallop. Away they both flew, clattering
along the hard road, like dragoons. But
Violet beat by a full length; or, as she
phrased it, "she won cleverly;" telling
Launcelot that he had a great deal to do yet
before he could ride against her, which made
him hate her as much as if she had
been a Frenchman, or a Cossack; and love
Ella more than ever. And so he told her, as
he lifted her tenderly from her grey, leaving
Violet to spring from her black mammoth
unassisted.

All that evening he was sulky to Violet,
and peculiarly affectionate to Ella; making
the poor child's heart flutter like a caged
bird.

"Cousin," whispered Violet, the next morning,
laying her little hand on his shoulder,
"have you a rifle in the house—or a pair of
pistols?" Launcelot was so taken by surprise
that he hurriedly confessed to having guns
and pistols and rifles, and all other murderous
weapons necessary for the fit equipment of
a gentleman.

"We will have some fun, then," she said,
looking happy and full of mischief. Violet
and Ella—Ella dragged sorely against her will,
for the very sight of a pistol nearly threw her
into hysterics—went into the shrubbery; and
there Violet challenged Launcelot to shoot
with her at a mark at twenty paces; then, as
she grew vain, at thirty. Launcelot was too
proud to refuse this challenge; believing of