But, no; the blood of Miss Hunsden and the "red-roan steed" was up, and straight they went at that awful pace.
"For God's sake, Miss Hunsden!" cried the voice of Lord Ernest Strathmore, "don't try that!" But he might as well have spoken to the cataract of Niagara.

With a tremendous rush Whirlwind charged the place.

There was a horrible crash--another--and a plunge downward.
Sir Everard turned sick with horror; but Whirlwind settled into his stride, and the girl recovered her balance in the very instant, and away again like the wind.
"Splendidly done, by Jove!" cried Lord Ernest.

"I never saw a lady ride before like that in all my life." Sir Everard dashed on.

His horse was on his mettle; but, do what he would, the slender, girlish figure, and superb roan kept ahead.
Whirlwind took hedges and ditches before him, disdaining to turn to the right or left, and after a sharp run of an hour, Miss Hunsden had the glory and happiness of being one of the few up at the finish in time to see the fox, quite dead, held over the huntsman's head, with the hounds hanging expectant around.
Every eye turned upon the heroine of the hour, and loud were the canticles chanted in her honor.