The days that followed were days of torture to Elizabeth Blair. It was
as if Blair could think of nothing but Alabaster and the famous match.
It got out among the betting fraternity which infests every racing
community that Blair had a superstitious faith in the black horse, and
thereupon they beset him. Blair, in the coolest, most rational, and
self-possessed way in the world, would give the most extraordinary
odds, secretly goaded by the general disposition in favour of Jaybird.
At home it seemed as if he had but one idea, and that was Alabaster. He
was at the stables by dawn of day to see if the horse was all right,
and the last thing he did at night was always to take a lantern and go
into the horse’s stall and examine everything carefully.
The creature, with tawny, vicious eyes, would back his ears and glare
at him, pawing the ground and occasionally hitting a thundering blow
with his hoof against the wooden partition of the stall. His coat was
satin smooth. The black hostler declared solemnly: “Dat hoss, he see
evils, I know he do. Sometimes, in de middle o’ de night, I heah him
whinnyin’ an’ gwine on, an’ den he kick wid he hine foots; dat’s a sho’
sign.”
One night Blair came in the house, where Mrs. Blair sat in the dimly
lighted drawing-room, with Mary and Hilary beside her listening to her
sweet talk, and, coming up to her, said, with pale lips, “Alabaster is
off his feed to-night.”
Elizabeth felt no inclination to laugh. Alabaster’s appetite for his
oats was of great importance to everybody at Newington then. Blair
sat down heavily. His pallor and distress were so great that it moved
Elizabeth to go to him and put her arms tenderly about him.
“Dearest,” she said, “no matter how it goes, try--try--to give this up.
See how much misery it has brought into our married life! It is well
enough for men like Richard Skelton, to whom money is nothing, but to
you it is different. Think of me--think of our children.”
“Yes, I know,” answered Blair drearily. “Here am I, an educated man, a
gentleman, and I swear I spend more time in the society of stablemen
and jockeys than anywhere else. It has brought me and mine to beggary
almost, and yet--and yet, if Alabaster wins, as he must, it would be a
shame not to make some more money out of him; and if he does not, it
will be the purest, cursedest luck in the world--the creature has got
it in him.” And then Blair’s face softened, and he took her hand, and
said; “Do you know, Elizabeth, there is for me no pleasure on earth
so great as that of getting the better of Skelton? and for that you
must thank your own sweet self. The only woman he ever wanted to marry
I took away from him; the only sport he cares for I have sometimes
got the better of him. Now he thinks to ruin me on the turf, but
Alabaster’s swift feet will save us yet, my girl.”
Elizabeth said nothing, but turned away, sighing.
The strain upon Mrs. Blair’s mind reacted upon her body. She became
weak and bloodless, and entirely lost her appetite. She went about,
silent as to her sufferings, but deathly pale, and Blair noticed with
alarm that she not only did not eat but could not sleep. She persisted
gently that nothing ailed her, and would not agree to see a doctor; but
Blair became more distressed every day at her pallor and weakness. One
night, on opening his wife’s door, he saw her sitting at the window
looking out into the dim, moonless night at the river that flowed
darkly. Her attitude was so dejected that Blair was cut to the heart.
“Elizabeth,” he said, “tell me--tell me, what is it that is wearing
your life away?”
“Alabaster,” answered Elizabeth, with a half smile.
“He is destroying _my_ mind, I believe,” Blair replied gloomily enough.
“Darling,” said Elizabeth after a pause, and putting her hands on
Blair’s broad shoulders as he stood over her, “do you want to see me
well, and fresh, and rosy once more?”
“God knows I do,” responded Blair with energy.
“Then--then--make me a promise.”
“Oh, I know what you mean,” cried Blair with nervous impatience. “You
mean to ask me to cringe to Skelton, and to abandon this match on some
subterfuge or other, and manage it so that all bets will be declared
off.” In a moment he added: “Forgive me, Elizabeth, but a harassed man
is not responsible for every word he says.”
Elizabeth had not opened her mouth, but her look was enough to bring an
immediate apology.
“What I do want--what would make me well--what would make me happy--is
that you will promise me, after this, to give up racing. I have never
asked this of you before, because I have not fully realised the
terrible hold it had on you. But I tell you, in sober seriousness,
that, beyond what you will bring upon yourself and our children, if
this continues, I shall not live two years. My body is still strong,
but my heart and my soul are both sick--sick--and I know that I could
die of grief, and chagrin, and shame, and disappointment as readily
as if I had been poisoned. I have struggled ever since you began this
thing years ago, but lately I have yielded to despair. Now you can kill
me or you can save my life.”
Blair walked about the room with an agonised look on his fine,
sunburned, expressive face. He believed every word that Elizabeth
uttered. Presently he came up to her and cried:
“Elizabeth, will you promise to live and be happy if I promise you
never to start another horse in a race after this one--never to back
another horse?”
“Yes, I will give you my promise if you will give me yours.”
“And,” continued Blair, with a smile that had more pain than mirth in
it, “will you promise me to smile again, and to look as cheerful as you
used to look when we were first married, and to get back that pretty
colour that you once had in your cheeks? for I can’t stand such a
woe-begone-looking wife another day.”
“I will promise you to be so young, so beautiful, so gay, that you will
be amazed at me. I will not only smile, but laugh. I will never be
jealous any more.”
“My dear, don’t say that,” said Blair, really smiling then; “you can’t
any more help going into tantrums every time I look at a pretty girl
than you can help breathing, and, besides, it diverts me very much.”
“Very well, then; only promise. You know you have never broken your
word to me, and your word is all I want.”
“Then,” said Blair, after a pause, “I promise.”
He was still smiling, but there were drops upon his forehead. He was
not unprepared for this, but it was a crisis with him. Elizabeth
overwhelmed him with sweet endearments. Blair said truly, that it was
the beginning of their second honeymoon.
Elizabeth bravely redeemed her promise. In one week a delightful
change came over her. She tripped about the house singing. Her health
returned with her spirits, and she regained in a few days what she had
lost in as many weeks. Blair himself experienced a certain relief. He
sat down one day and figured up the profits he had made out of his
plantation within the time that he had kept his “horse or two,” and he
was startled at the result. But for that “horse or two” he would have
been a rich man. He anticipated some terrible struggles in the future
against his mania, but if only Alabaster won--and he _must_ win--Blair
would have accomplished his object. He would have got the better of
Skelton, he would have won enough--in short, he would be just at the
point where he could give up with dignity and comparative ease the
sport that had so nearly ruined him.
The eventful day came at last--the closing day of the spring meeting.
There had been four days of racing in perfect May weather, with
splendid attendance and a great concourse of strangers. Skelton’s
stable had been very successful. Every day the two men met at the races
and exchanged nods and a few words of ordinary courtesy. Sometimes
Skelton drove over tandem; once he drove his four-horse coach, with
Lewis Pryor on the box seat. He was always the observed of observers.
Mrs. Blair, on one pretext or another, refrained from attending the
course upon any of the first four days, albeit they were gala occasions
in the county; but on the final day, when the great match was to be
run, her high spirit would not allow her to stay at home. She knew
perfectly well that the whole county understood how things were with
them, for in patriarchal communities everybody’s private affairs are
public property. They even knew that Blair had promised his wife that
this should be the last--the very last--of his horse racing.
The day was very bright even for the bright Southern spring, and there
was a delicious crispness in the golden air. As Elizabeth leaned out
of her window soon after sunrise the beauty and peace around her
lightened her weary heart. Newington had long fallen into a picturesque
shabbiness, to which Elizabeth was quite accustomed and did not feel
to be a hardship. At the back of the house her window opened upon what
had once been a prim garden with box hedges; but the hedge had grown
into trees, and the flowers and shrubs had long ago forgotten to be
prim. Violets, that are natural vagabonds and marauders, bloomed all
over the garden. Of gaudy tulips, there were ranks of bold stragglers
that flaunted their saucy faces in the cold east wind, which slapped
them sharply. There was an arbour nearly sinking under its load of
yellow roses, that bloomed bravely until the December snows covered
them. Down the river the dark-green woods of Deerchase were visible,
with an occasional glimpse of the house through the trees. The
Newington house faced the river, and a great ill-kept lawn sloped
down to the water. It was quite a mile across to the other shore, and
the water was steely blue in the morning light, except where a line
of bent and crippled alders on the shore made a shadowy place in the
brightness. And this home, so dearly loved in spite of its shabbiness,
she might have to leave. What was to become of them in that event
neither she nor Blair knew. He understood but one way of making a
living, and that was out of the ground. He was essentially a landed
proprietor, and take him away from the land and he was as helpless as
a child. He might, it is true, become manager of somebody’s estate,
but that would be to step into a social abyss, for he would then be an
overseer. In short, a landed man taken away from his land in those days
was more helpless than could well be imagined.
Down by the stable lot Elizabeth saw a commotion. Alabaster had been
fed, and the hostler was bringing him out of his stall for his morning
exercise. He came rather more amiably than usual. Blair and Hilary
were both there. Elizabeth could see Blair’s tall figure outlined
distinctly; he was standing meditatively with his hands in his pockets.
Hilary watched the hostler put the saddle on Alabaster, then mounted,
and rode off, the creature going along quietly enough.
When Blair came in to breakfast he wore a look of peace that Elizabeth
had not seen for a long time on his face. Elizabeth, on the contrary,
for once had lost some of her self-control. She was pale and silent,
and could scarcely force a smile to her lips when her husband gave her
his good-morning kiss.
“You look unhappy, Bess,” he said, “but I am more at ease than I have
been for a long time. Come what may, this day I am a free man. Never
since I grew hair on my face have I not been in slavery to horses and
stablemen and jockeys and the whole gang. Of course, it is no easy
thing to give this up; it has had its recompenses. I haven’t had many
happier moments in my life than when Black Bess romped in ahead of
Skelton’s Monarch that day so many years ago. In fact, the pleasure of
beating Skelton has been one of the greatest seductions of the whole
thing. But when he put his mind to it he could beat me. Now, however, I
don’t propose to give him the chance again. That will be pretty hard on
him, considering that he has poured out money like water to do it. From
this day, my dear, I am no longer a racing man.”
Elizabeth brightened at this. No matter what might come, there was no
longer this terrible apprehension all the time of “debts of honour”
hanging over them.
Mrs. Blair, being naturally rather vain and very proud, would have
liked a splendid costume to wear on this momentous occasion, and a
coach and four to drive up to the grand stand in. But her very best
gown was shabby, and her carriage was on its last legs. However she
looked remarkably well on horseback, and there was Black Bess, retired
from the turf, but yet made a very fine appearance under the saddle.
She concluded that she would go on horseback, and Blair would ride with
her.
At one o’clock in the day the Campdown course was full, the grand
stand crowded with all the gentry in the county, and everybody was
on the tiptoe of expectation. It was no mere question of winning a
race--it was whether Skelton would succeed in ruining Blair, or would
Blair escape from Skelton. Skelton was on hand, having ridden over
with Lewis. He was as cool, as distinguished looking, as immaculately
correct as ever. People thought he had little at stake compared with
Blair. But Skelton thought he had a great deal, for he had to have his
vengeance then, or be robbed of it. He knew well enough that it was his
last chance.
Tom Shapleigh was there, and Mrs. Shapleigh and Sylvia, who looked
remarkably pretty, and everybody in the county, even Bulstrode, who
dreaded the catastrophe, but who could not forbear witnessing it.
Skelton, with Lewis close by him, walked about the quarter stretch
and infield. Everybody received him courteously, even obsequiously,
for Skelton was their local great man. But nobody took the slightest
notice of Lewis beyond a nod. The boy, with a bursting heart, realised
this when he saw Hilary Blair surrounded by half a dozen boys of his
own age, and being petted by the women and slapped on the back and
chaffed by the older men.
Presently they came to the Shapleigh carriage. Sylvia had been acutely
conscious of Skelton’s presence ever since he drove into the enclosure;
and she also had seen the contempt visited upon the boy, and her tender
heart rebelled against it. As Skelton and Lewis came up she turned a
beautiful rosy red, and, after having had her hand tenderly pressed
by Skelton, she opened the carriage door and invited Lewis to take a
seat and watch the first events. Skelton declined an invitation of the
same kind for himself, and chose to stand on the ground and have Lewis
monopolise the front seat in the great open barouche. Mrs. Shapleigh
had joined in Sylvia’s cordial invitation, and so profoundly grateful
was Skelton for it that he almost persuaded himself that Mrs. Shapleigh
was not half such a fool after all. As for Sylvia, he thought her at
that moment adorable; and there was certainly some distinction in her
notice, because she was commonly counted to be the most spirited girl
in the county, and one of the most admired, and Miss Sylvia had a quick
wit of her own that could make her respected anywhere. Besides, old Tom
was a man of consequence, so that the backing of the Shapleighs was
about as good as anybody’s.
Sylvia felt intensely sorry for Lewis, and sorry that she had ever
sold Alabaster to Blair. The boy was very silent, and was wondering,
painfully, for the hundredth time, why nobody ever noticed him
scarcely. Sylvia tried to cheer him up. She pinned a rose from a
bouquet she carried to his jacket. She even got out of the carriage
and took a little stroll about the infield, with Lewis for an escort,
leaving Skelton to the tender mercies of Mrs. Shapleigh. Sylvia knew
well enough how to command civility for herself as well as for Lewis,
and when people spoke to her she brought the boy in the conversation
with a pointedness that could not be ignored. She returned after a
while to the barouche with a light of triumph in her eyes. She had
managed much better than Skelton, with all of his distinction and
prestige, women being naturally much cleverer at social fence than men.
Skelton could have kissed her hands in the excess of his gratitude. He
smiled to himself as he thought: “How much more power have women than
men sometimes! Here is this girl, that can circumvent the whole county,
while I only fail in trying to bully it.”
Everybody watched for the appearance of Jack Blair and Mrs. Blair, as
the crowd waits for the condemned at an execution. At last they were
seen entering the enclosure. Both of them were well mounted, and Mrs.
Blair’s black habit fell against the satin coat of Black Bess. She
wore a hat and feathers and sat her horse like a Di Vernon. A delicate
pink was in her cheeks, and her eyes, which were usually soft, were
sparkling. If Skelton or anybody else expected her to show any signs of
weakness, they were much mistaken. Blair was at his best on horseback,
and he had become infected by his wife’s courage. As they rode into the
infield they were greeted cordially, Skelton coming up, hat in hand,
to make his compliments to Mrs. Blair, who stopped her horse quite
close to the Shapleigh carriage. The women spoke to each other affably.
Lewis was still in the carriage as Skelton moved off. Mrs. Blair at
that moment regretted as keenly as Sylvia that Alabaster had ever been
heard of.
Old Tom was there then, all sympathy and bluff good-nature. He felt
sorry for Mrs. Blair, and wanted to show it.
“How d’ye do, Mrs. Blair? Deuced brave woman you are to trust yourself
on that restless beast!” for Black Bess, irritated by the people
pressing about her, threw her head in the air and began to dance about
impatiently.
“Why, this is the very safest creature in the county,” answered Mrs.
Blair, patting her horse’s neck to quiet her. She was so smiling, so
calm, that Tom Shapleigh was astounded.
“Look here, ma’am,” he cried, “you’re a mighty fine woman”--and then
stopped awkwardly. Mrs. Blair fully appreciated the situation, and
Black Bess, just then showing symptoms of backing into Mrs. Shapleigh’s
lap, a reply was avoided. Sylvia uttered a little cry, as Black Bess’s
hind feet scraped against the wheel and her long black tail switched
about uncomfortably in the carriage.
“Don’t be afraid,” cried Mrs. Blair, with sarcastic politeness, “I can
manage her.”
“I hope so,” devoutly answered Sylvia; and old Tom asked:
“Blair, why do you let your wife ride that restless creature?”
“Because I can’t prevent her,” answered Blair, laughing. “When
Mrs. Blair wants Black Bess saddled she has it done. I’m the most
petticoated man in the county.”
At which Mrs. Blair laughed prettily. The hen-pecked men are never the
ones who parade the fact openly.
The scene was very animated. The sun shone hotly upon the white track
and the tramped infield and the crowds of carriages and horsemen.
The women wore their gayest dresses, and in those days men were not
confined to sombre black, and claret-coloured coats and blue coats and
bottle-green coats were common enough. Skelton did not wholly devote
himself to Sylvia, although Lewis still kept his place opposite her,
but went about shaking hands with the men and making himself unusually
agreeable to the women. In spite of the general knowledge that Skelton
would lose the main part of his fortune if he married again, he was
still an object of interest to the feminine contingent, who knew that
Skelton was a good deal of a man whether he had a great fortune or not.
He never went into the society of women, though, that he did not feel
that bond of the dead woman upon his liberty. He loved his liberty so
dearly, that not even that splendid fortune could wholly make up for
it; he wanted all of the power of money, but he wanted to be as free
as other men were; and as it was, he was not free, but a slave. And
he had so much, that a crumpled rose-leaf troubled him. He could have
made Lewis Pryor his heir, and he could have married Sylvia Shapleigh
and have been rich and happy at Deerchase, but that would involve
putting a stain upon Lewis; and that was the worst thing in the world
except one--letting the Blairs have the money. But some day it must
come; and he caught himself debating, in the intervals of talk with
men and women, that, after all, he might not make a bad exchange--his
fortune for Sylvia. As a matter of fact, his money, beyond a certain
expenditure, did him very little good. He had all the books he
wanted--more than were good for him, he sometimes suspected. He had
some pictures and curios, but in those days the art of collecting was
practically unknown. Of course, money implied a mastery of conditions,
and that was the breath of his nostrils; but conditions could be
mastered with less money than he had. If only Lewis could be spared
the shame awaiting him! Skelton’s eye sought him occasionally, as he
still sat in the Shapleighs’ barouche. Sylvia looked lovely to him then
because she was so sweet to Lewis. Mrs. Blair, too, was watched by
Skelton, and he was forced to admire her perfectly indomitable pluck.
It was far superior to her husband’s, who, after a brave effort to
appear unconcerned as the saddling bell rung in the last race, finally
dashed off, and, jumping his horse over the fence, disappeared amid
the crowd of men in the paddock. Elizabeth gave a quick glance around,
and for an instant a sort of anguish appeared in her expressive eyes.
But in the next moment she was again easy, graceful, unconcerned. One
would have thought it a friendly match between her boy and Lewis Pryor
on their ponies. Lewis had then disappeared, of course, but by some
odd chance Skelton was close to Mrs. Blair. He saw that she was in a
passion of nervousness, and he had pity enough for her to move away
when the horses were coming out of the paddock and the boys were being
weighed. But just then Blair rode up to his wife’s side. His face
was flushed, and he had a triumphant ring in his voice as he said to
Elizabeth, while looking at Skelton sharply:
“The boy is all right. I saw the horse saddled myself, and Hilary knows
what to do in any emergency.”
Skelton knew perfectly well, when Blair said “the boy is all right,”
he meant the horse was all right. Blair’s face was menacing and
triumphant; he began to talk to Skelton, who at once took it as a
challenge to stay. Blair thought Skelton bound to lose, and those
savage instincts that still dwell in every human breast came uppermost.
At the moment, he wanted to enjoy his triumph over Skelton. Exactly the
same thoughts burned in Skelton’s mind. An impulse of pity would have
made him spare Mrs. Blair the pain of his presence, but he could feel
no pity for Blair.
The two horses were now prancing before the grand stand. Jaybird was
a magnificent, clean-limbed bay, with an air of equine aristocracy
written all over him. He was perfectly gentle, and even playful,
and apparently knew quite well what was up. Lewis, his dark boyish
face flushed, cantered him past the grand stand, and to the starting
post, where Jaybird stood as motionless as a bronze horse. But not
the slightest welcome was accorded Lewis Pryor. Not a cheer broke the
silence, until old Tom Shapleigh, in his strident voice, sent up a
great “Hurrah!” A few faint echoes followed. But one handkerchief was
waved, and that was in Sylvia Shapleigh’s hand. Skelton, whose feelings
during this could not be described, observed that Sylvia’s eyes were
full of tears. The cruel indifference of the world then present was
heart-breaking. Lewis, with his face set, looked straight before him,
with proud unconsciousness even when a storm of applause broke forth
for Hilary Blair.
Alabaster’s behaviour was in total contrast to Jaybird’s well-bred
dignity. He came out of the paddock kicking and lunging, and only the
most perfect horsemanship on Hilary’s part kept him anywhere within
bounds. The applause seemed to madden him; he reared, then came down on
his front feet, trembling in every limb, not with fear but with rage.
But, as Blair had said, he might as well try to throw a grasshopper as
Hilary. The boy’s coolness and admirable management only caused the
more applause, and this still more excited the black horse. Hilary
was forced to give him a turn half way around the course to bring him
down. During all this, poor Lewis sat like a statue at the starting
post. Jaybird had had his warming-up gallop before, and Lewis felt that
it would be like an effort to divide the applause of the crowd if he
showed the bay off during Alabaster’s gyrations. But what would he not
have given for some of the kind glances that were showered upon Hilary!
Mr. and Mrs. Blair were still close to the Shapleighs, and Skelton was
standing between them and the carriage. He glanced towards Sylvia and
saw the troubled look in her eyes.
“Are you losing faith in your young admirer?” asked Skelton, smiling,
and moving a step towards the carriage.
“No,” answered Sylvia, “but--but--why did I ever let Mr. Blair have
Alabaster! Perhaps I have done him the greatest injury of his whole
life.”
“No, you have not,” replied Skelton, in his musical, penetrating
voice, which Blair, whose attention was abnormal that day, could hear
distinctly; “you have probably done that which will cure Mr. Blair of
racing the entire rest of his life.”
Blair heard the reply and surmised the question. He smiled insultingly
at Skelton, who, however, possessed in perfection the power to appear
unconcerned when he wished it.
The two horses were now at the post, and the starter was making his
way towards his place. There was an intense, suppressed excitement
following the cheering that kept the whole crowd silent. Nearly
everybody present had something on one horse or the other; and then,
they all knew that it was more than a match between Jaybird and
Alabaster--it was a life-and-death contest between Blair and Skelton.
But then the starter was in place and was trying to get the horses off.
Skelton longed to call Lewis to the fence and give him a few last words
of advice, but as Blair did not speak to Hilary he could not bring
himself to show less want of confidence in Lewis.
Hilary had the inside place. There was great difficulty in starting
the horses, owing to Alabaster’s ill humour, and they were turned back
half a dozen times. Each time Elizabeth’s heart grew fainter. Alabaster
was becoming more wildly excited, and the bright gleam of the bit,
as he champed it, throwing his head about fiercely, could plainly be
seen. He had a way of getting the bit between his teeth, when he would
stop short in his course and indulge in every wickedness known to
horseflesh. If he ever began those performances after the flag fell he
was gone. The Blairs watched, in the dazzling sunlight, Hilary stroking
the horse’s neck, saying encouraging words and trying to keep him down.
At last, when they were turned back for the fourth time, Alabaster
ducked his head, and, raising his forefoot, brought it down with a
crash on the rickety fence that separated the track from the infield.
Elizabeth trembled visibly at that, and Blair ground his teeth. That
pawing performance was always the beginning of the horse’s most violent
tantrums.
Jaybird, who was well bred as well as thoroughbred, was in agreeable
contrast to Alabaster. He was perfectly manageable, although eager, and
showed not the slightest temper or nervousness.
At last a cheer rose. They were off. Skelton had had his horse brought,
and had mounted so as to see the course better. Old Tom Shapleigh stood
up in the barouche for the same purpose. The race was to be once around
the mile-and-a-quarter track, with four hurdles and two water jumps. As
soon as the horses were fairly started Alabaster began to lag sullenly.
He had got the bit between his teeth and was champing it furiously, the
foam flowing in all directions. Jaybird had taken the inside track, and
was going along easily. He could win in a canter if that sort of thing
was kept up. Still, Hilary did not touch Alabaster with either whip or
spur. “Great God!” cried old Tom, who had some money on Alabaster, to
nobody in particular, “why doesn’t the boy give him the spur?”
“Because,” said Mrs. Blair in a sweet, composed voice, “he is in a
temper, and to be touched with a spur would simply make him more
unmanageable than he is now. My son knows what to do, you may depend
upon it.”
Elizabeth was scarcely conscious of what she was saying, but nobody
should find fault with Hilary then. Skelton, chancing to meet her
glance at that moment, mechanically raised his hat. There was a woman
for you! Blair leaned over and grasped the pommel of his wife’s saddle,
as if to steady himself. He was ashy pale and trembling in every limb.
There were two hurdles before the water jump. Alabaster did not refuse
either hurdle, but at the water jump he swerved for an instant, only
to take it the next moment. Hilary still showed the most wonderful
self-possession; and as for Lewis Pryor, his intelligence in letting
the sulky horse set the pace was obvious. Nevertheless, he was wary,
and was drawing ahead so gradually that Jaybird actually did not
feel the strain upon him. He had taken all three jumps like a bird.
Alabaster was running along, his head down and his ears backed. The
thousands of people with money on him watched him with a kind of
hatred. One old fellow, who had perched himself on the fence, took off
his battered beaver, and, as Alabaster passed him, he suddenly threw
the old hat full at the horse, shouting, “Run, you rascal, run!”
Blair, who saw and heard it across the field, uttered a slight groan;
Elizabeth grew, if anything, more ghastly pale than before. They both
thought the horse would stop then and there and begin his rearing and
pitching. The effect, though, was exactly the contrary. Alabaster
suddenly raised his head, cocked his ears, and went in for the race.
Blair gave a gasp, and the crowd another cheer; now there was going to
be a race in earnest.
The horse lengthened his stride, and the bit, which he had hitherto
held on to viciously, slipped back into his mouth. Hilary touched
him lightly with the spur, and in half a dozen strides he was up to
Jaybird, who was still going steadily.
Skelton was afraid that Lewis would lose his head and go blundering at
the hurdles. But he did not; he lifted the horse over them beautifully,
a little in advance of Alabaster, who went at them furiously, and
knocked them both down. It was neck and neck to the water jump. Both
horses were then flying along. Alabaster’s black coat was as wet as if
he had been in the river, but Jaybird gave no sign of distress. As they
neared the jump, Alabaster increased his stride superbly. It was plain
what Jaybird could do, but it was a mystery still how much speed the
half-bred horse had. Alabaster rushed at the water jump as if he were
about to throw himself headlong into it, and cleared it with a foot to
spare; Jaybird followed a moment after. His hind feet slipped as he
landed on the other side, and it was a half minute before he recovered
his stride. Alabaster was then three lengths ahead, and Hilary was
giving him whip and spur mercilessly. Nothing that Jaybird had yet
showed could overcome those three lengths at the magnificent rate the
black horse was going.
The crowd burst into a mighty shout: “Alabaster wins! Alabaster!
Alabaster!”
Blair experienced one of the most delicious moments of his life then.
He turned and looked Skelton squarely in the eye. He said not a word,
but the look was eloquent with hatred and triumph. Skelton faced
him as quietly as ever. Blair turned his horse’s head; the race was
his--Newington was saved--_he_ was saved!
“Mr. Blair,” said Skelton, at that instant, in his peculiar musical
drawl, and with a smile that showed every one of his white, even teeth,
“your boy is down.”
Blair glanced towards the track, and the sight seemed to paralyse
him. Alabaster was rolling over, struggling violently, with both
forelegs broken and hanging. He had slipped upon a muddy spot, and
gone down with frightful force. It was terrible to see. Hilary was
lying perfectly limp on the ground, some distance away. The people were
yelling from sheer excitement, and in a second a crowd had run towards
the prostrate horse and boy. Blair found himself, he knew not how,
on the spot. Some one shouted to him: “He’s alive--he breathes--he’s
coming to!”
Before waiting to hear more about Hilary, Blair ran up to the
struggling horse, and, with the savage instinct that had seemed
to possess him all along regarding the creature, stamped his foot
violently a dozen times in its quivering flank. The horse, half dead,
sank back and ceased its convulsive efforts, fixing its glazing eyes
on Blair with a dumb reproach. Blair, struck with shame and horror and
remorse at his action, knelt down on the ground and took the horse’s
head in his arms.
“My poor beauty!” he cried, “my poor beauty!”
Mrs. Blair had sat bolt upright in her saddle, looking before her with
unseeing eyes, until Blair kicked the dying horse; then, without a
word or a cry, she fell over. Skelton caught her in his arms. He laid
her down upon the grass, and Sylvia Shapleigh, jumping out of the
carriage, ran to her. People crowded around. Here was a tragedy for the
Blairs with a vengeance--Hilary perhaps killed, Blair ruined and making
a brute of himself before the whole county, and Mrs. Blair falling
insensible. It was ten minutes before she opened her eyes, and then
only when Lewis Pryor, making his way through the people surrounding
her, threw himself beside her and cried, “Dear Mrs. Blair, it was not
my fault; and he is alive! he is alive!”
The boy’s dark face was grimed with dust and tears. As Skelton looked
at him, the feeling that it might have been Lewis who was thrown made
him long to open his arms and hold the boy to his heart. But he did
not; he only gave him a slight pat on the shoulder. Lewis was crying a
little, completely overcome by the excitement. Everybody, particularly
those who had lost money on Alabaster, scowled at him. But Sylvia
Shapleigh, drawing the boy towards her, took her own white handkerchief
and wiped his eyes, and entreated him to control himself. Skelton, on
seeing that, vowed that, if ever he married, it would be to Sylvia
Shapleigh.
Mrs. Blair, although more than half conscious by that time, yet could
not take it all in. She seemed to be lingering on the borders of a dim
world of peace and sweet forgetfulness, and she dreaded to come back
to the pain and stress from which she had just escaped for a moment or
two. All at once everything returned to her with a rush. She saw Hilary
go down. She saw Blair’s furious and insane action. She uttered a groan
and opened her eyes, which at once fell on Skelton’s.
It was one of the most painful moments of Skelton’s whole life. He did
not relish taking vengeance on a woman.
Mrs. Blair, as if inspired by a new spirit, sat up, and disdaining
Skelton’s arm, and even Mrs. Shapleigh’s or Sylvia’s, rose to her feet.
Just then Blair came up. In ten minutes he had aged ten years. He had
had a crazy moment or two, but now he was deadly calm and pale.
“The boy is all right,” he said. As a matter of fact, Hilary was far
from all right, but Blair did not intend to tell Mrs. Blair then. “Mr.
Bulstrode has already put him in his chaise, and will take him home. Do
you feel able to ride home?”
Sylvia and Mrs. Shapleigh and old Tom at once offered the barouche.
Skelton had withdrawn a little from the group, to spare Mrs. Blair the
sight of him.
Mrs. Blair declined the carriage rather stiffly. She was a
strong-nerved though delicately made woman, and she meant to go through
with it bravely.
“No,” she said, “I will ride.”
Something in her eye showed all of them, including Blair, that it was
useless to protest. Her husband swung her into the saddle, and she
gathered up the reins in her trembling hands. Meanwhile her eye fell
upon Lewis, standing by Sylvia Shapleigh, his eyes still full of tears.
“Please forgive me, Mrs. Blair,” he said.
“There is nothing to forgive,” she answered, feeling, in the midst of
her own distress, the acutest sympathy for the lad; “it was purely an
accident. I hope you will come to see Hilary.”
Lewis thanked her, with tears in his voice as well as his eyes.
Mr. and Mrs. Blair rode off the field together. People gave them all
the room they wanted, for they were encompassed with the dignity of
misfortune. They did not take the main road, which was full of people
in gigs and chaises and carriages and on horseback, all talking about
the Blairs’ affairs and Skelton and everything connected with them.
They took a private road through the woods that led to the Newington
lane. Mrs. Blair did not know whether Alabaster were dead or alive.
“What has become of the horse?” she asked presently.
“Shot,” replied Blair briefly.
Mrs. Blair looked at him intently, to see what effect this had on him,
but strangely enough his face wore a look of relief, and his eyes had
lost the hunted expression they had worn for months.
“But I thought you loved that horse so--so superstitiously.”
“So I did. It was a madness. But it is past. I am a free man now.
If the horse had lived and had won the race, sometimes--sometimes I
doubted if I could have kept my word. But it is easy enough now. We
are ruined, Elizabeth; that’s what running away with Jack Blair has
brought you to, but after this you can never reproach me again with
racing. It has been your only rival; and I tell you, my girl, it is you
that has made Skelton and me hate each other so.”
What woman could be insensible to the subtile flattery contained in
such language at such a time? Elizabeth at that instant forgave Blair
every anxiety he had made her suffer during all their married life, and
professed a perfect willingness to run away with him again under the
same circumstances. One thing was certain, she could believe what Blair
told her; he never lied to her in his life, and his word was as dear to
him as his soul.