MOSTYN IS BETTER UNDERSTOOD.
The company had assembled, as the year before, at Sir Roderick
Macphane's house in Eaton Square for the drive to the Derby. There
were some new faces, but for the greater part the party was the same
as that which had been present on the occasion of "Old Rory's"
victory. Lord Caldershot had arrived early, just the same
immaculately dressed Lord Caldershot, with eye-glass in eye and
inordinately tall collar, uncomfortably tight round his neck. He was
enquiring diligently if Miss Rada Armitage was to be present that
day, ready to declare himself as before, her cavalier, all the more
proud of being so because "the little minx is going to win the Derby,
by Jove! Fancy a girl of her age owning a Derby winner!"
Rada was expected, and duly arrived, but Captain Armitage, who
accompanied her, walked with the assistance of a stick, and had
completely lost all his irresponsible gaiety of demeanour. He
appeared morose and sullen, the result of a week or so of enforced
abstinence from strong drink. He had, indeed, been very ill, and it
was against the orders of the doctor that he had ventured out that
day. But it was the Derby--Castor's Derby, Rada's Derby--and the
temptation was too great for him.
"Where is Mr. Clithero, my hated rival?" smiled Rada, as Pierce
Trelawny approached and shook hands with her, freeing her for the
moment from the attentions of the assiduous Caldershot.
"Didn't you know?" Pierce shook his head sympathetically. "Poor
Mostyn had a bad accident yesterday and broke his arm. He saved a
little girl from being run over, with happy results as far as the
child was concerned, but just the reverse for himself."
Rada paled as she listened. "He is not in danger?" she asked
eagerly; then, reassured by Pierce's smile, she drew her breath in
sharply. "Of course you wouldn't be here if he was. But how brave
of him: he saved the child's life?"
"Yes, he saved the child's life," repeated Pierce. "He fell from his
own momentum when he had got back upon the kerb. It was just outside
David Isaacson's house, and they carried him inside and made him as
comfortable as they could. He's there now; he'll be well in a week
or so, but, of course, it was all up with the Derby. Poor chap, he
won't see one of the finest races that we have been promised for
years. His own horse, too, pitted against yours, Miss Armitage."
The girl said little, but the colour returned only slowly to her
cheeks. A sense of faintness had come upon her when she had learnt
of Mostyn's accident, and this had revealed to her, more forcibly
than ever, how much she really cared.
She did care. What was the use of attempting to deceive herself?
That day when Mostyn's lips had met hers she had learnt that she
loved--yes, though she had torn herself away crying aloud that she
hated him. Then he had gone away, and she had eagerly desired him to
return. She had written to him, and, like a foolish man, he had
taken her letter far more literally than she had intended it. She
had expressed her desire to be friends, and had hinted her approval
of Jack Treves because he had promised not to "bother" her with
love-making that year. She would have broken with Jack, ready to
defy him and her father, if Mostyn had spoken again, if he had shown
any desire to be more than just the friend he now professed to be.
She had given him plenty of hints--or thought she had--but Mostyn had
been too blind to see them. So poor Rada had concluded that he did
not care any more; that, if he had ever cared, the love he bore her
had been killed, perhaps by her own folly.
There was a time when she had seen her way to paying off her debts,
and her father's debts, to Jack Treves. Castor had done so well, and
promised to do better in the future. But in the meanwhile fresh
debts were incurred, so that, indeed, when she had opened her heart
to Mostyn in the paddock at Newmarket, it was true that she was more
closely bound to Jack than before. And yet she could not help
thinking that the latter had grown tired of her--no wonder, perhaps,
since she treated him with scant ceremony--and, as for herself, how
sick and tired she had grown of a bond that galled and vexed her!
She had come to hate Jack Treves: yet what did it matter what became
of her since Mostyn had ceased to care?
"It's hard luck, isn't it," Pierce was saying, "but, after all,
Mostyn is in good hands and will be quite all right. I'd have stayed
behind with him, but he insisted that I must go to look after you.
My wife is with Mostyn"--he lowered his voice--"and his father is
with him, too," he continued. "You know that they have been on bad
terms for the last year, and they have just been reconciled. Mostyn
did something for his father, something that I can't tell you about,
and which has saved old Mr. Clithero from a very awkward position.
And now"--Pierce smiled--"the old man is at his son's bedside, in the
house of a man whom he professed to loath and despise; and I verily
believe that he, to whom racing has always been the devil's work, is
as anxious as Mostyn himself for Pollux to pull off the Derby."
"Pollux won't," said Rada, with something of her old spirit.
Whatever she might be feeling, her pride was in arms against anyone,
and especially Pierce, guessing her secret. "I think it is mean of
Mostyn to wish to beat me," she continued, her cheeks flushing now.
"If he was so keen on carrying out his word he might have tried for
the Derby next June. He gave himself five years. Besides, the whole
thing was so silly; no one has taken it seriously but he."
Pierce noted the girl's flushed cheeks and he read the truth of her
love in her eyes. He understood what she must feel, and how
heartless Mostyn's conduct must seem to her, since she knew nothing
of the will and of the incalculable importance it was for him that
Pollux should win the race. Was it not for her sake, too, that
Mostyn was depending upon Pollux? But she did not know--she could
not know.
How he longed to explain! Could he not give her a hint? But he
quickly found himself involved in totally unexpected difficulties.
"Don't be hard upon Mostyn, Miss Armitage," he ventured. "Really, I
assure you, he hasn't done this out of ill-will to you. If only I
could get you to feel that! Nor is it that silly wager which makes
him so keen upon winning the Derby. It may look to you like spite,
but believe me--try to believe me--it's quite the reverse." Poor
Pierce stammered painfully. He wanted to do the right thing both by
his friend and by Rada. He could see that the latter had been deeply
wounded in her affection, and he felt that if by chance Pollux should
win the race she might be too deeply offended with Mostyn to listen
to any explanation. And yet it was for her as much as for his
millions that Mostyn was fighting.
"I don't understand you, Mr. Trelawny," said Rada. "Please try to
explain yourself." She tapped the floor impatiently with the toe of
her little shoe. Her dark eyes were fixed upon Pierce, who felt
particularly uncomfortable.
"Mostyn cares for you far too much----," he began hesitatingly.
"Cares for me!" Despite her determination not to betray herself Rada
could not help interrupting. "When he wants to be the one to rob me
of my victory! If Pollux wins he will laugh at and mock me, because
I laughed at and mocked him once: he will say that I challenged him
to win a Derby before me, challenged him unfairly because I already
had a horse in training. He wants to humiliate me--that's what he is
playing for--and you say he cares!" Rada poured out her words
tempestuously, though they were spoken in an undertone lest they
should be overheard.
"Oh, how can I explain?" Poor Pierce was conscious by now of the
slough into which he had blundered. He was quite unable to extricate
himself, and only made matters worse by his attempts. "Mostyn loves
you, Miss Armitage," he faltered. "It's for your sake that he wants
Pollux to win; for your sake and----"
"For my sake!" Rada broke into a harsh laugh. "When he knows what
this Derby means to me, that it is the ambition of my life! For my
sake!"
"But it is!" Pierce had gone too far to withdraw. "I tell you
Mostyn loves you. But unless Pollux wins"--he faltered and
hesitated. Mostyn had bidden him keep the secret, from Rada most
especially. For what would happen if she knew? The girl would be
robbed of all her happiness in victory, should victory be hers. How
could she rejoice knowing that her triumph meant the ruin of another?
"Yes," she prompted, "unless Pollux wins?" She had suddenly imagined
that she understood the situation. Perhaps it was because Mostyn saw
ruin staring him in the face that he had not ventured to speak to her
again of his love. He had been foolishly spendthrift: she had
scolded him often enough for his extravagance. What if he was making
his last plunge--upon this Derby--and, if successful, meant to claim
her?
She was trembling with excitement. She wanted to know everything and
that immediately. "Go on!" she cried petulantly. "What will happen
if Pollux loses?"
"I'm a blundering fool," stammered Pierce. "It's a secret, Miss
Armitage."
"A secret I mean to share," she said decidedly. Again she stamped
her foot. "Tell me! I must know everything--I must."
The explanation that might have followed here--for Pierce saw no
means of escape--was interrupted by a general movement in the
direction of the coach. The party was ready to start. "You must sit
by me and tell me about it as we go down," Rada commanded.
There was a slight difficulty, in consequence of this, when it came
to allotting seats upon the coach. Rada stuck close to Pierce, in
spite of all the efforts of Lord Caldershot to intervene. The latter
found himself at last, very much to his chagrin, settled on the back
seat in the company of a simpering young lady not at all to his
taste, while on the other side he had the morose Captain Armitage,
who, as a matter of fact, hardly uttered a word during the whole of
the journey down.
Rada and Pierce were seated in front, and it was not long before the
girl had elicited from her companion all that was to be told. She
learnt the full story of Anthony Royce's will; learnt, too, the true
reason why Mostyn, loving and desiring her as truly as ever, had been
constrained to silence. Pierce, once having committed himself, had
been as straw in her hands; and perhaps, since he saw that there was
now every chance of the misunderstanding between the pair of lovers
being cleared up, he was not, after all, so sorry that he had spoken.
"If Pollux wins it's all right," he muttered to himself, "and if
Castor wins--well, I believe, though poor Mostyn will be ruined, Rada
will want him to stick to her all the same. And Mostyn would never
have thought of that. Perhaps it's just as well I spoke." In this
way he sought to comfort himself for his indiscretion.
As for Rada, she was swayed by varying emotions. First and foremost
came the knowledge that Mostyn loved her, that he had never ceased to
love her. "I've been such a little cat to him," she said, penitently
clasping her hands together, and quite careless now of revealing the
truth of her own love. "But why didn't he tell me everything? Why
should he have kept the secret from me? I'd have let him have
Castor--I'd have done anything--anything. But it's only now"--she
drew her breath quickly--"when it's too late, that I get to know the
truth, and that only by bullying it out of you, Mr. Trelawny!" She
dashed her hand to her eyes. "I feel that it's I--I--who am standing
in his way of gaining all this money," she whispered, "and if Castor
wins now--oh, I shall hate myself!"
"It's just that that Mostyn feared," said Pierce quickly. "That's
why he wouldn't tell you. Castor had to run. Miss Armitage, you
must just take it as a sporting chance. Things must be allowed to go
on exactly as they are. There isn't a shade to choose between one
horse or the other. Castor may win or Pollux may win; the one means
a lot to you, the other means a lot to him. It's fair for both
sides: the issue rests upon a race, a race where the chances are
absolutely even. One couldn't have anything better or finer than
that."
But Rada turned her head away, and Pierce could see by the quivering
of her shoulders how deeply moved she was. It was a few moments
before he ventured to speak again.
"You love Mostyn, Miss Armitage?" He lowered his voice, even though
his conversation with the girl had passed quite unheeded, for she was
occupying the outside seat, while his neighbour on the other side, a
Parliamentary friend of Sir Roderick's, an Irishman like himself, was
deeply engaged in discussing the question of cattle driving with a
lady of prominence in London society.
"Perhaps I do," the girl admitted, in a curiously subdued tone of
voice, "but I wouldn't own it, even to myself, at first. The more I
knew it and felt it, the more I was compelled to struggle against it.
That's the sort of girl I am--a hateful, wayward little creature
altogether. But I'm suffering for it now, and I deserve to suffer."
She was crying very softly now, but it was a relief to her to have
opened her heart, and for the rest of the way down she talked freely
to Pierce, telling him of the life she had led with her father, the
semi-savage life of so many years, giving him an insight into her
character such as she had never allowed to any man.
They reached the course and took up their position under the hill,
the coach being greeted, if anything, by more public interest than
the year before. "Old Rory" himself was always an object to attract
attention, but, on the present occasion, it was upon Rada that all
eyes were fixed.
The girl looked so young, almost a child, and yet it was quite three
years since she had registered her colours. The lemon and lavender
quartered were already well known and recognised by most race-goers.
Sir Roderick made his traditional little speech very much in the same
words as the year before, save that he ended up by wishing good-luck
to Castor and to Pollux, and expressed a fervent wish that both
horses might win. After that, as was usual, the company dispersed to
follow their own pleasures. Captain Armitage alone remained stolidly
seated in his place, and he shook his head savagely when the butler,
who knew him well and was accustomed to administer to his fancies,
handed him up a brimming glass of champagne. Champagne was strictly
forbidden; Captain Armitage was allowed a little weak whiskey and
water with his meals, and no more. It was with a curse muttered
under his breath that he informed the butler of the fact, and
requested a little plain soda-water instead.
Pierce stuck close to Rada that morning, though on one occasion he
nearly came to high words with Lord Caldershot, who, as soon as the
little party had begun to disperse, waited at the foot of the coach
for Rada, eager that he should have the honour of conducting her to
the paddock.
"There's a horse belonging to a friend of mine running in the first
race, Miss Armitage," he drawled, "and I want you to come and have a
look at it. You can't do better than back Galahad to win, and a
shop. I'll get the money on for you, if you like," he added eagerly.
"Thank you," replied Rada coldly, "but I'm not going to back anything
to-day. I've got quite enough interest in the one race. Mr.
Trelawny has promised to walk with me to the paddock."
Lord Caldershot drew back, feeling unwarrantably snubbed, and was
perforce obliged to continue his attentions to the gushing little
damsel who had been his companion on the way down, and whom he
regarded as altogether too inexperienced to merit the time which he
had wasted upon her.
For the nonce Rada seemed to have lost all her reckless carelessness;
she was quiet and subdued, and she went about her work with all the
calm self-possession of a woman of the world. She interviewed her
jockey and her trainer--old William Treves himself--who had brought
Castor to Epsom, and who was prepared to stake his reputation upon
the ultimate success of his stable. He would turn up his nose
defiantly at all mention of Pollux, and the state of the betting did
not influence him in the least any more than did the unbeaten record
of Castor's adversary. As the horses paraded in the paddock, he
would even point out to his cronies certain fancied defects about
Pollux which were visible only to his imagination.
The absence of Mostyn Clithero, the owner of the latter horse, caused
some remark, but the story of his accident had got abroad, and
sympathy with him was very generally expressed. The reason why "Old
Rory" should have disposed of his colt to that remarkably
enthusiastic young sportsman was a matter for far greater
speculation, and it was estimated that the sum paid by young Clithero
must have been enormous.
The most astonishing stories had got abroad as to Mostyn's wealth and
as to his desire to win a big race. His name was coupled with that
of Rada, and there were many who had evolved a romance out of the
rivalry of Castor and Pollux.
It was some time after lunch, and within an hour of the big race,
when Rada, who was strolling in the enclosure with Pierce, suddenly
stopped, gave a low laugh, and laid her hand upon her companion's
arm, forcing him to stop. "Look there!" she whispered.
Pierce, following the direction of the girl's eyes, perceived Jack
Treves, conspicuous for his flowery waistcoat, his tight-fitting
trousers, the horsiness of his coat, and the peculiar angle at which
his hat was tilted. He was leaning against the lower row of stalls
in the Grand Stand, talking to a remarkably smart-looking woman, who
wore a feather of exaggerated dimensions in her picture hat. One of
her hands, ungloved--probably to show the many rings she was
wearing--rested in close proximity to the big fingers of Jack Treves.
The pair were laughing and talking, quite unconscious of being
watched.
"Who is it?" whispered Pierce.
"It's Daisy Simpson," returned Rada. "Another hated rival," she
added, with a return of her natural humour. "She's an old flame of
Jack's. She used to live down at Partinborough, and they were great
friends before, and after, he did me the honour of wanting to marry
me. She went up to town and became an actress, or something of the
sort. She calls herself Daisy Montague and she must be getting on
remarkably well," Rada continued ingenuously, "to be able to flaunt
about in such clothes as that; but I've always heard that people make
a lot of money at the music halls."
Pierce glanced again quickly at the young woman in question. "Daisy
Montague!" he repeated. "Ah, yes, I've heard of her." He smoothed
his dark moustache with his hand, as if to hide the smile that curved
his lips. "I've no doubt she's very clever," he remarked; "a light
of the music halls. I'm quite sure that her talent has been
appreciated."
"Jack doesn't look as if he was worrying about me over much, does
he?" asked Rada, with a little laugh. "I've often had an idea that
he's rather regretted being off with the old love. I never could
understand why he preferred me. Miss Daisy is so much more his
style. Look at him now. Why, he's positively fawning over her!
They used to say that he treated her rather badly in the old days,
but I suppose he admires her now she's successful."
At that moment Jack turned and recognised Rada. He raised his hat,
then after a few words to Daisy, spoken in a quick undertone, he
turned away and sauntered up to the couple.
"I've been on the look-out for you all day, Rada," he said jauntily.
"Must just have missed you in the paddock an hour ago, but knew that
I should have to run across you soon." He stared pointedly at
Pierce, who, however, refused to take the hint.
"Where are you going to watch the race from?" Jack enquired, after an
awkward pause.
"I am going back to the coach," replied Rada, carelessly.
"Oh, I say, that's not fair!" exclaimed Jack. "You promised to be
with me to see the race, Rada, you know you did." He scowled
offensively upon Pierce.
"I can't help it," said Rada easily. "I've come down with the party
and I've got to be with them. You looked quite happy without me,
Jack." She cast a glance in the direction of the stalls, where Daisy
Simpson was now sunning herself, smiling upon a tall, fair man, who
had just taken his place beside her. "I've no doubt that your friend
over there will effectively fill my place," she added meaningly.
"Oh, you're jealous!" Jack exclaimed. "I can see that. But Daisy
Simpson's a jolly fine girl, and I'm glad to have met her again." He
spoke with intentional malice. "Now look here, Rada," he went on,
"if you can't be with me to see the race I want a word with you here.
I'll take you back to the coach afterwards. We'll have this matter
out once and for all, see?"
"Very well." Rada turned to Pierce, who had been standing a little
apart. "Will you excuse me for a few minutes, Mr. Trelawny?" she
said. "If you'll go back to the coach I'll join you there very soon."
Pierce nodded, and Rada and Jack moved away together.
"Now I want to have a definite understanding with you, Miss Rada,"
Jack said roughly, after they had taken a few steps. "Do you mean to
marry me, or don't you? I'm not the sort of man to be kept dangling
for long at the end of a piece of string. If you want to cry off,
say so. Clear up the money you and your father owe me and have done
with it." He cast a furtive glance from under his heavy brows in the
direction of Daisy Simpson. "I don't believe you care a hang for me,
really," he went on, "while Daisy--well, I've just been having a chat
with her and she's as fond of me now as ever she was. London's made
a different woman of her too, as you can see for yourself. She's the
kind of girl any chap might be proud of."
"No doubt you're quite right, Jack," said Rada. "I can quite
understand Miss Simpson's attraction for you."
"Well, I'm talking straight to you, aren't I? If you want to give me
the chuck, just say so. Though, mind you," he repeated
threateningly, "I shall expect payment in full. That's plain enough,
what?"
"It's very plain, Jack," replied Rada quietly, "and really I think I
had better pay you the money. If Castor wins I can do so quite
easily." A shade of anxiety crossed her brow as she spoke. If
Castor won! Yes, it was upon that that she had been depending to
escape from this foolish tangle in which she had involved herself.
If Castor won she could pay Jack what she owed him, and be free. But
then, on the other hand, if Castor won, what would be the consequence
to Mostyn Clithero?
"Oh, Castor will win right enough." Jack tugged at his scrappy
moustache and smiled maliciously. "You can take that as a tip from
me, Rada, though it's your own horse we're talking about. Castor's
going to win, my word upon it." He chuckled under his breath. "I've
seen to that," he added.
Rada drew up abruptly, staring at her companion. "What did you say?"
she asked quickly.
"Oh, nothing," responded Jack a trifle uneasily. "Only I've backed
Castor pretty heavily myself. That's all I meant."
Rada was only half reassured, but she could elicit nothing more,
though she questioned Jack closely. The latter was inclined to be
rough, threatening, and impertinent. From his point of view he had
been treated badly, and it made no difference that he himself was
willing to cry off the engagement. He pointed out to Rada--a fact of
which she was already aware--that her father's affairs were so
involved that, even if Castor won, she would hardly be able to put
them straight. It was not only to the Treves's that they were in
debt; Captain Armitage had consistently raised money in any way that
suggested itself, and now he was about to reap the harvest of his
follies.
"I suppose you know your own affairs best," grumbled Jack, "but it's
a fool's game to give me the chuck, I can tell you that. I suppose
you're lookin' to Clithero--damn him!--to pull you through, but
you're backin' a wrong 'un there, Rada. He'll come a smasher when
Pollux fails to-day. No man can stand the pace at which he's been
goin'; it's not in reason."
"Will you please take me back to the coach?" Rada spoke imperiously.
"I have promised to be with Sir Roderick and Mr. Trelawny for the
race. They will look after me then and afterwards."
Indeed, there was little time to spare. The bell was ringing; people
were scurrying across the course. Rada and Jack had barely reached
the other side when a low cry went up from the crowd and a black
horse emerged from the paddock, a horse which was proclaimed by the
puce and black of the jockey to be Mostyn Clithero's Pollux.
It was at that moment, as they stood watching for Castor to appear,
that a rough-looking fellow pushed his way to Jack's side, thrust a
note into his hand, and then remarking, "I've had a hunt for you,
guv'nor," edged away again.
"What's that letter about?" Rada put the question as Jack read the
communication. All her suspicions had returned to her. She felt
possessed of a curious clairvoyant power, and knew that she had
reason to be on her guard.
"It's nothing to do with you." Jack crushed the note in his hand,
preparatory to thrusting it in his pocket.
With a sudden sharp movement, totally unexpected, Rada seized the
paper. She hardly knew why she did so; she was impelled by the
action of some unaccountable power.
"Give that to me. Curse you, what d'you mean by it?" Jack sought
vainly to rescue his property, but since he could not exercise actual
violence there under the Epsom Hill, he was powerless. Rada unfolded
the crumpled paper and read the missive.
"It's all right, Jack. I've got Ben to do the job. Only found him
this morning. It's all up with Pollux. We've wiped off our little
debt, and you can turn your brass upon Castor. Meet you after the
race--you know where." The note was signed "Ted."
For a moment Rada stood still, then she found tongue. "You
blackguard!" But her breath was coming in deep gasps, and she could
say no more.
"Look here, Rada," growled the man, "you've no right to read my
letter. But let that pass. Since it's all for your good you won't
be such a fool as to kick up a shindy. Your horse will win the
Derby, and that's what you want. Give me that paper, and say no more
about it."
"No!" Rada crushed the incriminating document in her hand. "I won't!"
He seized her arm. "Give it to me," he hissed. "Rada, if you make a
fool of yourself, I swear before God that you shall suffer for it. I
can ruin you and your father, and I'll do it."
"Let me go!" The girl struggled free. They were surrounded by a
crowd, and the man was helpless. "If you dare to try and hold me,
I'll strike you. Yes, here before everyone--I'll strike you with my
fist in the face."
Jack swore under his breath. He hurled vile oaths at the girl, but
he was powerless. As a cheer from the crowd proclaimed that Castor
was galloping down the course, Rada, his owner, darting in and out
wildly and ingloriously among vehicles of all kinds, sought the coach.
She failed to find it, but she ran into the arms of Pierce Trelawny,
which was more to the point.
"Miss Armitage---why, what is the matter?"
"I want you to come with me, Mr. Trelawny." She was gasping for
breath. "You must come at once. I must see the stewards. There
isn't a moment to be lost."
It was very evident, from the girl's demeanour, that the matter was
one of vital importance. Pierce asked no useless questions, but
placed himself unreservedly at Rada's disposition. He contrived to
steer her, though not without difficulty, to the other side, and
directed their course to the Grand Stand.
"There's going to be foul play," Rada panted as they walked. "Pollux
is to be got at--I don't know how."
"And you will warn the stewards?"
She made no direct reply, but muttered something under her breath.
Pierce could not quite distinguish the words, but he thought he
heard: "Castor will win--Castor is bound to win."
* * * * * *
Upon the coach they wondered what had become of Rada, but assumed
that she was with Pierce Trelawny, watching the race from the other
side. She would want to be upon the spot to lead her horse in--if
Castor should prove victorious.
The start was delayed longer than usual, owing to the vagaries of a
bad-tempered colt. Sir Roderick, gazing through his field-glasses,
stamped his feet with excitement.
"They're off!" he shouted at last, and for the rest of the race he
kept up a running commentary of the principal events.
"Bad-tempered beast that--Prince Eugene--wasn't it? He's no
good--not a bit of good. Won't be in it. Being left behind already,
unless I'm mistaken. The rest are coming along nicely. Can't make
out either of the favourites, though--they're too far off as yet.
Who's that forging ahead? Green sleeves, and yellow, I fancy. It
must be Candahar. He won't keep up that pace for long. Going well,
though. Ah, here comes another--level with him now! Goliath, by
Jove! Where the deuce are the favourites?"
He swept the field with his glasses, and presently gave vent to a
shout. "Come along, Pollux!" He glanced down in sudden trepidation.
"Oh, it's all right! Miss Armitage isn't there. I may cheer my own
horse. Come along, Pollux!"
Castor and Pollux were running practically level. Some four or five
horses were in advance of them, and about the same number followed
behind. Between these, the two big black colts, suddenly revealed by
the dividing up of the field, stood out conspicuously. The lemon and
lavender--the puce and black diamonds--the two horses that might have
been twins--Castor and Pollux--battling together for Rada and for
Mostyn--shoulder to shoulder, like brethren, yet, in very truth, the
sternest of adversaries.
On they came, running easily, each palpably being held in by his
rider, reserving force till it should be needed. The rest of the
field was straggling by now. Two or three, including Prince Eugene
and Candahar, had already dropped far behind, "stony," and quite out
of the running. Pendragon was leading and looked like making a brave
fight.
One by one the horses that were in advance of the favourites were
overtaken, passed, and left behind. The crowd roared its delight at
each succeeding achievement, for Castor and Pollux, once they elected
to take the foremost place, would certainly not again drop behind.
And still they came neck to neck and shoulder to shoulder.
Near Tattenham Corner, Pendragon still held the lead. The tussle was
short and sharp. Castor and Pollux made a simultaneous spurt, and
forged to the front amid the uproarious cheers of the vast, heaving
mass of humanity that crowded Epsom Downs. It was a struggle now
between the favourites, for there was none to challenge their
advantage. But what a struggle! what a contest! what a race!
At Tattenham Corner, Pollux was leading by a little--very gradually,
and without any display of premature energy, he was forcing the
running. "Come along, Pollux!" yelled Sir Roderick, waving his arms,
and perspiring with eagerness. "Brave horse! the race is yours!" He
lowered his voice and muttered: "God send you first to the post!"
The words were breathed like a prayer, and there was no irreverence
in them. Sir Roderick knew all that the victory of Pollux meant to
Mostyn--and to Rada.
"Hullo! what's up?" The cheers of the crowd changed to a yell of
dismay. Those who were at the back and could see but ill, put the
question frantically to the more fortunate ones in front. "A horse
down? Which is it? Pollux? Good God!"
The name of Pollux swept from lip to lip. At the moment of rounding
the Corner, Pollux had been seen to sway, to stumble--then, carried
on by his own velocity, to go down head first. Castor swept by,
unchallenged now, a clear course to victory before him.
Sir Roderick struck his fists violently together. "The devil's in
it!" he roared. "Yes, the devil himself!" He dashed his hand over
his eyes, which had suddenly grown dim.
"Poor Mostyn!" The words came from his heart.