Emory was finishing his toilet the next morning when his servant
knocked at the door, and, on entering, informed him that a man, giving
his name as Jess Peleg, was waiting in the ante-room to see him. Emory
soon joined him, and, leading him into the reception-hall, motioned
Peleg to a seat.
“Thank you, sir, I won’t sit down. I’ve but a few words to say, if I
only knew how to put them up. I never was much of a talker, and I guess
I’d as well come to the point at once.”
“Very well,” said Emory, opening a desk behind him and drawing a check
book towards him, as he dipped his pen in the ink. “You remember, it
was two thousand dollars; and here is the check made out in your name.”
The man took it, saying:
“Yes; and here it is in no name!” and he tore the paper into pieces
and scattered them on the floor. “I didn’t come for no pay, Mr.
Emory, I only is here to ask that you keep to yourself what you found
out yesterday. I wouldn’t tell her for the world; anyhow, sir, not
yet awhile. She has her own reason, bless her heart, for the ride she
took. I might as well make a ‘up and up’ of it, sir, for fear you’d
be gettin’ things wrong. You know--if I tell you so--that she raised
that stallion herself. The mother belonged to her father, and I was
the blacksmith on the place. So you see it weren’t no great things
for her to do, considering as how the horse knowed her so well, and
them sort is always gentle like with a woman. I’ve been raised in the
‘blue grass’ country and so has she, and what we don’t know about a
daisy cutter, ain’t worth knowing. She come to me, just after she found
out your jockey was dead, saying she knowed your stallion was her old
Notos, and says she:
“‘Peleg, I can ride him! Peleg, I can’t abide for him to be beat!
I feel, old fellow, as if I must kick off my satins and silks, and
get astride of my darling again. Oh! I thought he was dead and gone
forever! When I saw him come on the track that day, I wanted to go down
and kiss him as I used to do!’
“And then she just begged me to help her do what she did. I was not
afraid of her gettin’ hurt, but found out. I don’t know if she had any
other reason than just to be on his back, and run him, as I used to see
her do, a comin’ down the pretty roads of our old home, her bright hair
a-flyin’ behind her. I don’t know if that were the only reason; but she
pleaded, with the tears in her eyes, for my help to win your race, sir!
And now please keep your money and our secret.”
He took up his hat, and without another word bowed low to his listener,
whom he left dumb-founded.
Keep her secret? Yes, that he would; but how long? But would she keep
it herself? Had she not already revealed it to him whom she believed
forever lost to her?
Afar off in her rosy bower that breezy morn Gwendoline thought of him,
and her cheek grew paler at the idea that he might have discovered
her. No word or look, as yet, had betrayed her passionate love for
him. The color rushed over throat and brow, as she thought of what
she had braved for him. To give to the husband of another her heart’s
best treasure was terrible in itself; and hide it in her bosom as she
would, she failed to still those wailings, which had he heard them
would horrify him. And then to know her as she was, unsexed before his
very eyes, that, that would be the finishing stroke. That she thought
in her despair would deal her a death-blow.
So thought Gwendoline. She murmured a prayer of thankfulness, and
blessed the brawny blacksmith, the friend of her childhood, who, she
believed, had saved her from this disgrace.
In the meantime, while these two hearts were torn with such contending
emotions, the men at the clubs were discussing the race and its
excitement. The wonderful pluck and bravery of the young jockey were
touched upon, his grace and good riding praised, but the culminating
incident of the encounter between Emory and Clayton was the principal
theme of conversation.
Would he resent the blow? Could he easily forget so ignoble a fall in
the dust, before a throng of men and women? Had he any excuse to plead
for such coarse and ungentlemanly conduct?
Many and varied were the comments around the card tables, in the
reading-rooms and over the billiard cues. During four or five days
following the race, little else was talked of, friends on both sides
being anxious to arrange matters amicably.
“Don’t trouble yourselves, my dear fellows!” said Emory on the third
evening, as he made his first appearance among them since the race. “I
think Mr. Clayton and I perfectly understand each other. I sent him a
letter this morning, which will be answered from----New York!”
A smile went around the company.
“Oh! pray don’t think for a moment that I am speaking derogatorily
of the gentleman in question, for I assure you I intend nothing of
the kind. On the contrary, I highly appreciate his many and untold
perfections. Still, I think it altogether unnecessary that you feel
further anxiety on this subject. It has quite settled itself--quite.
Thanks, all the same.” And, taking his hat from the rack, Neil bowed
politely and left the club.
“Well!” exclaimed one, “so there won’t be any duel, after all!”
“No! for I doubt if Clayton has the wherewithal to buy his false
courage!” chimed in another.
“I say, Reginald!” said a slim young fellow, buttonholing him and
drawing him towards an open window, “I have heard that Emory is a
married man. Is there any truth in the report?”
“Yes!” replied Gray; “but----he has lost his wife.”
“Oh! I beg pardon! You are great friends, are you not? He’s an awfully
fine fellow, and all that. I did not ask from idle curiosity. My sister
and myself are great admirers of his, and, somehow, I didn’t like to
think of him as sailing under false colors.”
“All right, Maury; I understand, and if you’ll just step outside, on
the balcony here, I’ll light a cigar and give you a little history.”
They took two chairs and made themselves comfortable.
“You see,” said Gray, leaning back and knocking the ashes from his
cigar, and, as he did so, wondering how much he ought to tell, “you
see, he was married four or five years ago to Cecile Davis, a cousin of
Miss Gwinn. Everybody thought it a love match; but I always doubted it
and wasn’t the least bit surprised when she ran away.”
“Left him!” cried Maury, starting forward. “Why, what was the woman
made of to desert such a man as that?”
A shrug of the shoulders was Gray’s only reply, and he continued:
“Well, he has never seen her since. Not long ago he heard she was dead.
I wouldn’t speak of the matter generally, Maury, for I really think it
too delicate a subject to be discussed in clubs; don’t you agree with
me?”
“I really do. Perhaps there is some one else he cares for. I wonder if
it’s the actress?”
“No!” was the answer, “I do not think it is Clovis.”
“Emory is a fine fellow!” exclaimed Maury, “and, if Selina wasn’t
engaged to Bob, I’d rather see her fancy him than anybody I know. But
it’s late! and my speaking of my sister reminds me that I promised to
call for her at Mrs. Dale’s where she is taking tea. By the by,” he
added, as they came down the steps of the club together, “are you going
to the garden party at Mrs. Dale’s country place? Of course, you were
invited?”
“I dare say I’ll put in an appearance,” answered Gray, “since it’s
getting too hot for dancing.”
“Oh! but they will dance out there,” said Maury, “and in the open air,
too.”
“Well! when I happen to hear a good band I generally feel inclined to
take a step or two,” remarked Gray. “I am not a bit like Neil in that
respect; he thinks it an awful waste of time.”
“But we’ll see him, at any rate; don’t you think so? And, Gray,” added
Maury, as they reached the corner where their paths diverged, “I wish
you would ask Emory to allow me to drive him out behind my team. I
heard he sent his horses back to his place to-day. I’m rather proud of
those bays of mine and want his opinion on their merits, as well as his
agreeable company. Tell him, will you? And ask him to send a reply in
the morning.”
“Very well; no doubt he will be delighted,” and the two parted.