Yes, Gwendoline rode the stallion, rode to victory the colt she herself
had reared. A few years back, when her father lived, he had owned the
mother of Cliquot, and, from the time the beautiful sorrel came into
the world until that dark day when misery, ruin and death settled on
their hearts and homes, the girl had caressed and fondled the lovely
creature, who, when old enough to mount, was, for her, as gentle as a
lamb.
Over the hills of the “blue grass” country together they sped many,
many miles, Cliquot and the tall, red-haired, pale-faced girl who was
daring as a boy, reckless as an Indian, and cool and calculating beyond
her years.
No wonder Cliquot neighed low and quivered with delight when her small
hand crept, as of old, under his mane, and the well-remembered “Up!
up!” of his coltish days rang in his ears, giving him the signal when
to do his best, that best which he had never done for any one but her.
The picture hanging in her room ever reminded Gwendoline of those “dear
departed days.” That small rough sketch of mother and colt was taken
when she little dreamed they would ever part, or, parting, meet again
as they had done. At her father’s death, everything was sold; and she
and her mother left the place they loved so well to seek a home in a
city in another state, where she again met the horse and the man she
loved.
By a strange fatality Emory had bought the creature, knowing nothing of
his history. By the new name given him Gwendoline did not recognize her
old “Notos” till she saw him led up on the track that dreadful day.
That night she woke from a wild and vivid dream of once more being
seated on his back like a boy, firm and erect. She dreamed that, in
scarlet jacket and jockey cap, she rode the race and won, gaining for
the man who had been blind to the idolatry of years victory and a
purse of gold. Then and there she seized the idea. She felt that her
influence over that trembling, high-spirited steed would be as strong
as in the olden days.
“Oh!” she murmured, “if I could but touch him! If I could but feel once
more his bounding, quivering limbs beneath my own! For that alone I
would risk my life, my beautiful! My beautiful!”
* * * * *
The blacksmith, Jess Peleg, who had lived on her father’s place, had
moved with them and set up his forge just outside the city limits. Here
Gwendoline often stopped in her carriage to exchange kindly greetings.
When a little girl, she had stood for hours, watching him at his work,
while the light from the glowing coals shone on her face and hair.
Sometimes, in the twilight, the man would turn to gaze upon her, as she
lingered near; and, in the imperfect light, he would fancy it was the
face of an angel. Strange that he alone should see the coming beauty so
deeply hidden to all others who knew her!
Peleg had a little niece, whom, with his whole heart, the rough fellow
loved, for she was his dead sister’s child.
Her father had gone to sea and left her with him and his wife, who
lived in a cottage by the forge. There the “lady’s child” and the
“laborer’s joy” grew fond of one another and Gwendoline taught the
little Alice to read and sew and perform many other tasks.
One day a handsome race-rider saw Alice, took a fancy to her, and,
after awhile, persuaded her to run away with him, because the
blacksmith, having heard he was a married man, forbade all intercourse
between him and Alice.
And this is why Peleg grieved sorely and pined at his work.
But the red-haired girl remained his friend, and, after a long,
troublesome time, found poor Alice and brought her home. Her husband by
this time had deserted her, leaving her lonely and broken-hearted. So
grateful were both the blacksmith and his niece that, when Gwendoline
took the girl to be her maid, her uncle followed, to be near them in
the city of N----; and, when Gwendoline was fired with the thought of
her daring scheme, it was Peleg who aided her and Alice who saw her to
and from the shop, and, at last, on the day of the race, sat amid the
ladies on the stand, dressed in her mistress’ clothes, sporting her
gloves and her parasol, and, with a veil over her face, was a silent
witness of her lady’s triumph.
And this man, Neil Emory, is married. She knows he is bound to another.
Why has she done this for him? Can it be for love?
Yes! for love her hands guided his flying steed to the mine of wealth.
For love her “pretty good arms” held in check the reins of fortune,
only to slacken them when the prize was won.
Now she lay back amid her pillows at ease and laughed at the world and
her mother, who called her “lazy.”
Where is her energy now? Gone? No! oh, no! but she can be quite as lazy
as ever now, and so the beautiful, tall, supple girl stretches out her
graceful limbs on the downy couch, with the same ease that the racer
does his on the greensward.
“How glad I am that he does not know!” she thought. She was not
aware Neil had discovered her, for, when she opened her eyes in the
carriage, Peleg alone was with her; and, when they drew up before the
blacksmith’s cottage, her hair was again under her black wig, and she
was able to alight and enter, leaving him to return thanks by the
driver.
She was lying on the little bed in the back room of this humble home
when Alice appeared with her garments, as usual. Her carriage stood a
short distance off, under some trees, and it was not long before she
appeared in her own dress, looking tall and stately, and, with her
faithful maid, drove home, through the gloom.
Mrs. Gwinn had not gone to the race. She never attended races; in fact,
she had preferred to spend the day with a friend.
When Gwendoline entered her own room, she walked over to where the
picture of the stallion hung. Taking it down, she pressed it to her
bosom, saying:
“God bless you, my darling! God bless you, my beautiful! You never ran
like that before--and may never do so again!”
Then, with Alice’s assistance, she undressed, and, after a refreshing
warm bath, wrapped about her a long, cool, white robe and threw herself
on a low couch, saying softly over and over, as the pent up tears fell
slowly down her cheeks:
“For thee I did it--for thee! Farewell, my beautiful! my beautiful!”