It was some minutes before Chris opened that paper, and then he had to turn it over and over before he found the racing intelligence, and even then he did not begin to read, for plainly before him were the words, —

“Back the Prince’s filly.”

Then in a quick, excited way he looked down the column he had found, and before long saw that the important race on the tapis was at Liverpool, and the last bettings on the various horses were before him, beginning with the favourite at four to one, and going on to horses against which as many as five hundred to one was the odds.

But the Prince’s horse! What Prince? What horse? He stood thinking, and recalled a rumour which he had heard to the effect that the Prince’s horses were run under the name of Mr Blanck, and there, sure enough, was in the list far down: —

“Mr Blanck’s ch. f. Simoom, 100 to 1.” Chris dashed down the paper in a rage.

“What have I to do with such things as this?” he said aloud. “Even if I were a racing man I could not do it. It is too dishonourable.”

Then he set to work to argue the matter out. He had come upon the information by accident, and it might be perfectly worthless. Even if the advice was good, the matter was all speculation – a piece of gambling – and if a man staked his money upon a horse it was the merest chance whether this horse would win; so if he used the “tip,” he would be wronging no one, except, perhaps, himself, by risking money he could not spare.

Anxiety, love, jealousy and disappointment had combined to work Chris Lisle’s brain into a very peculiar state of excitement, and he found himself battling hard now with a strange sense of temptation.

Here was a message giving Glyddyr information how to make money, and it had fallen into other hands. Why should not he, Christopher Lisle, seize the opportunity, take advantage of such a chance as might never come to him again, and back the Prince’s horse to the extent of four or five hundred pounds? Poor as he called himself, he had more than that lying at his bankers; and if he won, it might be the first step towards turning the tables on Gartram, and winning Claude.

True, the information was meant for his rival, but what of that? All was fair in love and war. Glyddyr would stand at nothing to master him: so why should he shrink? It would be an act of folly, and like throwing away a chance.

Then his training stepped in, and did battle for him, pointing out that no gentleman would stoop to such an act, and for the next six hours a terrible struggle went on, which ended in honour winning.

“I would not do such a dirty action; and she would scorn me if I did,” he said to himself. “Eh? Want me, Mrs Sarson?”

“Which it’s taking quite a liberty, Mr Lisle, sir,” said his landlady, who had come for the fifth time into his room; “but if you would let me send for Doctor Asher, it would ease my mind – indeed it would.”

“Asher? Send for him? Are you ill?”

“I? No, my dear boy, but you are. You are quite feverish. It’s terrible to see you. Not a bit of dinner have you tasted, and you’ve been walking up and down the room as if you had the toothache, for hours. Now, do trust to me, my dear, an old motherly body like me; I’d better send for him.”

“My dear Mrs Sarson, he could not do me the least good,” said Chris, smiling at the troubled face before him. “It was a fit of worry, that’s all; but it’s better now – all gone. There, you see, I’m quite calmed down now, and you shall prescribe for me. Give me some tea and meat together.”

“But are you really better, my dear?”

“Yes; quite right now.”

“And quite forgive me for calling you my dear, Mr Lisle, sir? You are so like my son out in New Zealand, and you have been with me so long.”

“Forgive you? Yes.”

“That’s right,” said the woman, beginning to beam; and hurrying in and out she soon had a comfortable-looking and tempting meal spread waiting before her lodgers eager eyes, and he made a determined attack upon that before him.

“That’s more like you, Mr Lisle,” she said, smiling her satisfaction.

“Would you mind opening the window a little more, Mrs Sarson?” said Chris, as he drove the Prince’s horse right out of his mind; and races, jockeys, grand stands, and even Glyddyr faded from his heated brain.

“Certainly, sir. And what a lovely evening it is – beautiful. Hah! there goes that Mr Glyddyr’s boat off to his yacht; and there’s Mr Gartram in it, and the young ladies. Going for an evening sail, I suppose.”

Chris dropped his knife and fork upon his plate.

“Bless me!” ejaculated the landlady, turning sharply round.

“Nothing, nothing, Mrs Sarson,” said Chris hastily; “that will do now. I’ll ring. Don’t wait.”

The landlady looked at him curiously, and left the room; and as soon as she was gone, Chris sprang from his chair, took a binocular glass from where it hung in its case against the wall, focussed it, and fixed it upon the smart gig being rowed out on the bright water.

“I’ve fought all I knew, and I’m beaten,” he muttered, as he saw Glyddyr leaning towards Claude, and talking to her. “Every man has his temptations, and the best and strongest fall if the temptation is too strong. I am only a poor, weak, blundering sort of fellow, I suppose; and I’ve fallen – low – very low indeed.

“Claude, my darling!” he groaned, as he lowered the glass and gazed wistfully out toward the boat, “if it were some good, true fellow whom you loved, and I was going to see you happy, I’d try and bear it all like a man. But you can’t be happy with a fast scoundrel like that; and you love me. I know, I’m sure you do, and I’d do anything to save you from such a fate.”

He pitched the glass on to the sofa, took a time table from where it lay, and, after satisfying himself as to the hours of the trains, he went quickly towards the door, just as it was opened and Mrs Sarson appeared.

“There, my dear,” she said, holding up a large glass dish; “there’s a junket of which any woman might be proud, and – ”

“No, no; not now, Mrs Sarson. I’m going out.”

“Going out, sir?”

“Yes; up to London.”

“To London, sir?”

“Yes; for a day or two,” and he hurried by her.

Half-an-hour later, he was on his way in the town fly to the railway station, just as the sun, low down in the west, was shining full on the white sails of Glyddyr’s yacht, as it glided slowly on over the bright, calm sea.

Chris turned his eyes away, and looked straight before him as he mentally conjured up the gathered thousands – the bright green course, the glossy horses making their preliminary canter, with the gay silken jackets of the jockeys filling out as they rose in their stirrups, and flashing in the bright sunshine. There was the trampling of hoofs over the springy turf, the starting as the flag was dropped, the dashing of one to the front, of others challenging, and the minutes of excitement as, in a gathering roar, one horse seemed to glide out from a compressed group, gradually increasing its distance as it sped.

Hiss, rush, roar! Then the vision had parsed away, and Chris Lisle was seated, not in a saddle, but on a cushion in a first-class carriage, the speed increasing and the wind rushing by the windows as, with cheeks flushed, he rode on, his teeth set, and completely now under the domination of one thought alone as he softly repeated to himself the words he had read upon the telegram, —

“Back the Princes filly.”

and a few minutes later the figures he had seen in that day’s news, —

“100 to 1.”

The simoom seemed to be scorching up his brains.

It was all one whirl of excitement to Chris Lisle – that railway journey to town, and there were moments when he asked himself whether he was sane to go upon such a mission. The night journey of the train seemed like a race, and the rattle of the bridges and tunnels suggested the shouts and cheers of the crowd as the horses swept on. But he had determined to persevere, and with stubborn determination he went on, reached town, and without hesitation laid his money – four hundred pounds, in four different sums so as to insure himself as well as he could, in each case getting the odds of 100 to 1, so that, should the Prince’s horse come in first, he would be the winner of forty thousand pounds.

As soon as this was done, he went to a quiet hotel to try and get some rest.

But that was impossible, for he was face to face with his folly. Four hundred pounds gone in an insane hope of winning forty thousand, and he could see now how absurd it was.

“Never mind,” he said bitterly; “I shall not be the first fool who has lost money on a race, and I shall have had the excitement of a bit of gambling.”

His idea was to stay in town and go to a theatre, so as to divert the current of his thoughts; then have a long night’s rest and go to some other place of amusement the next day, so as to pass the time till the race had been run, and he knew the worst.

He dined, or rather tried to dine, and for the first time in his life drank heavily, but the wine seemed not to have the slightest effect.

Then in a feverish heat he went to one of the best theatres, and saw a social drama enacted by the people who filled his brain, what was going on upon the stage being quite a blank.

He saw himself as a disappointed hero, and Glyddyr, as the successful man, carrying all before him, winning Claude’s love, and then, in what seemed to be the last act, there was a wedding, and a wretched man going afterwards right along to one of the towering cliffs overhanging the sea, below Danmouth, and leaping off to end his woes.

“I’m glad I came to the theatre,” he said mockingly to himself, in one of his lucid intervals. “Better have gone to a doctor for something to send me to sleep.”

Then he became conscious of the fact that people in the pit were saying “Hush!” and “Sit down!” and that somebody had risen and come out from the place where he was jammed in, right in the centre of the stalls, just as the climax of the play was being reached.

Then he grew conscious that he was the offender, and breathed more freely as he got out into the cool night air.

It was not ten, and he found a chemist’s open near the Strand.

“I’m not very well,” he said to the gentlemanly-looking man behind the counter. “Had a lot of trouble, made me restless, and I want to take something to give me a good nights rest. Can you give me a dose of laudanum?”

The man looked at him curiously.

“You ought to go to a doctor,” he said.

“Doctor! Absurd! What for? I’m as well as you are. Give me something calming. It will be better than going back to the hotel and taking brandy or wine.”

The chemist nodded, and prepared a draught.

“What’s that? Laudanum – morphia?”

“No; a mild dose of chloral. Try it. If it does not act as you wish, I should advise you to go to a physician in the morning.”

Chris nodded, took the bottle, and strolled back to his hotel, where he at once went to bed after swallowing his draught.

It did not have the desired effect. His idea was to take a draught which would plunge him in oblivion for a few hours; but this dose of chloral seemed to transport him to a plain, surrounded by mountains covered with the most gloriously-tinted foliage, where flowers rippled all over the meadow-like pastures, and cascades of the most brilliant iridescent waters came foaming down, sparkling in the glorious sunshine.

All deliciously dreamy and restful, but when the morning came it did not seem to him that he had slept. Still, he was calmer, and felt more ready to think out the inevitable.

“How many hours shall I have to wait?” he said.

The race would probably be run about three o’clock, and till then he must be as patient as he could.

“Better go back at once,” he thought, “and repent at leisure over my madness.”

But he did not, for he accepted the last suggestion of his brain, partook of a hurried breakfast, and jumped into a hansom; had himself driven to the station, and soon after was being borne away by the express.

The rest of that day’s proceedings were a dreamy whirl of confusion. The rushing noise of the train seemed to bring back the old excitement, and this increased as he reached the station, and had himself driven to the course, where one of the first things he learned was that the case was hopeless; for the horse he had backed had gone down in the betting, till two hundred to one could be obtained, and for the first time he felt sick at heart.

He went up into the principal stand, securing a good place to see the race, and waited while two others were run, the horses flying by without exciting the slightest interest; the only satisfaction he gained was in having them pass, so as to be nearer to the great feature of the day.

At last, just as he had pictured it from old recollections of a minor race he had once seen, there was the shouting and bawling of the odds, the clearing of the course, and then the preliminary canter of the ten competitors, among which he now made out the colours of Simoom, a big ordinary-looking horse, with nothing to draw attention to it, while the three first favourites of the cognoscenti were the perfection of equine beauty, and their admirers shouted with excitement as they flashed by.

Then, after five false starts, each of which was maddening to Chris, who, while thinking the worst, could not help a gleam of hope piercing the dark cloud which overshadowed him, the cry arose that they were off, and amid a babel of sounds, as the parti-coloured throng of jockeys swept along the green course and disappeared, spasmodic cries arose, “Lady Ronald,” “Safflower – Safflower leads,” “Rotten race,” “The favourite shows ’em all her heels,” “Look! The favourite!”

The horses, after a period of silence, had swept round into sight again, and it was seen that three were together, then there was an interval, and there were four, another interval, and the rest behind.

The second group excited no notice, save from Chris, who made out that his horse was with them; and while every eye was fixed on the exciting race between the favourite and the two horses which strove hard to get abreast, there was suddenly a yell of excitement, for Simoom all at once shot out from among the second lot, and going well, with her jockey using neither whip nor spur, began rapidly to near the leaders.

The shouts increased, and a thrill ran through Chris as he saw the plain-looking mare glide on, but apparently too late to overtake the others.

Another roar as it was seen that the favourite’s jockey was beginning to use his whip, and the roar increased as Safflower was level with her shoulder, was head to head, was head in front, and the next moment, hopelessly beaten, the favourite was passed by Lady Ronald as well, who now challenged Safflower, and they were racing level for fifty yards.

The excitement grew frantic. “Safflower! Lady Ronald! Safflower! Safflower!”

“No, no, no!” shouted a man on Chris’s left. “Look!”

Chris heard all he said, and stood there bending forward, his lips apart, and eyes starting, as if turned to stone, living a very life in those seconds, as, amid a roar like the rushing of the tempest itself, the contemned mare came on.

“By George, sir, if the course had been a hundred yards more, she’d have won,” roared the man on Chris’s left. “Safflower’s done. It’s Lady Ronald; by – , no. Hurrah! Simoom! Simoom!” and in the midst of the frantic excitement, the mare upon which Chris’s hopes were fixed passed Safflower. There was a quick touch of the whip and she was alongside of Lady Ronald, and then Simoom’s nose showed in front, and in the next few bounds she was half-a-length ahead, and swept past the post – winner.

The man on Chris’s left suddenly seized his arm.

“Hurrah for the dark horse,” he cried. “Just for the fun of the thing, I put a sov on her, and I’ve won two hundred pounds. I beg your pardon, sir, I see you’re hit. Forgive my excitement. Don’t be down-hearted; come and have a glass of champagne.”

“Thank you,” said Chris quietly; but he did not move, for the place seemed to be spinning round him, and he held tightly by the rails till a hand was laid upon his arm.

“Can I help you? You look ill.”

“Help me? No; I’m all right now,” said Chris, making an effort. “It was so sudden.”

“Have you lost heavily?”

“Lost?” said Chris, looking at him wildly. “No; I’ve won.”

He felt his hand being shaken warmly, and then he sank back into a wild, confused dream, in the midst of which he knew that he was being borne back by one of the express trains, with the roar of the race in his ears, and the sight of the horses sweeping by before his eyes.

As he neared town he began to grow more calm, and he found himself repeating the words, —

“Forty thousand pounds! I’ve won; but shall I win her now?”

And then, like a dark cloud, came the recollection of how he had obtained the information upon which his success was based.

“I can never name it to a soul,” he muttered. “I must have been mad.”

Volume One – Chapter Sixteen.
Gartram Takes his Dose

“It’s all right, I tell you, my dear boy. You don’t understand women yet. A girl who says snap the moment you say snip, isn’t worth having. A good, true woman takes some wooing and winning; and no wonder, for it is a tremendous surrender for her to make.”

“Yes, sir, you are quite right, but – ”

“Yes; never mind the buts, Glyddyr. I could put my foot down, and say: ‘Claude, my dear, there’s your husband,’ but it would mean a scene, and a lot of excitement, and I should be ill – perhaps have one of my confounded fits.”

“But without going so far as that, sir, couldn’t you – just a little, you know – parental authority – you understand. I am kept back so terribly as yet.”

“No, my lad, I should not be serving your cause,” said Gartram firmly. “You see, she had always been so intimate with that fellow Lisle. Boy and girl together. It will take a little time to wean her from the fancy, and if I pull out the authoritative stop I shall be making him into a hero and her into a persecuted heroine. I may as well tell you that she is a bit firm, like I am, and any angry discussion on my part would perhaps make her stubborn.”

“Then, perhaps, you had better not speak, sir.”

“Decidedly not. There, you have the run of my place. Set to and win her like a man. Get along with you, you dog. Smart, handsome fellow like you don’t want any help. It’s only a matter of time. Don’t seem to push your suit too hard. Treat it all as a something settled; and all you have to do is to get her used to you and her position as your betrothed. Bah! it will all come right, so don’t let’s risk opposition. You will win.”

“You are right, sir,” said Glyddyr. “I’ll be patient.”

“Of course you will. That’s right. I say, though, that little upset?”

“Little upset, sir?” said Glyddyr starting.

“I mean about your friend, the visitor from town, whose wife came after him.”

“Oh!” exclaimed Glyddyr. “I didn’t know what you meant.”

“Rather an exciting affair, that. Strikes me that if it had had a tragic termination, your friend would not have broken his heart. I say, here you are in a hurry to get married, and you never know how the lady may turn out.”

“Ah, that was an exception, sir,” said Glyddyr hurriedly.

“Yes; but depend upon it, my dear boy, that was a hasty marriage. The gentleman said snip, and she said snap. Wasn’t it so?”

“Yes; I think you are right,” said Glyddyr.

“What a temper that woman must have. They tell me she deliberately stepped off the pier to follow him, or drown herself in a fit of passion.”

“Well, I’ll take your advice, sir,” said Glyddyr, hurriedly changing the conversation. “Of course, I can’t help feeling impatient.”

“No, of course, no,” said Gartram. “Come in,” he added, as there was a timid knock at the door.

“I beg pardon, sir, but Doctor Asher said I was to be particular as to time.”

Sarah Woodham entered the room with a small tray, bearing glass and bottle.

There was a peculiar, shrinking, furtive look about the woman, that would have impressed a stranger unfavourably; but Glyddyr was too intent upon his own business, and Gartram already disliked his old servant, and did not shrink about showing it.

“Oh!” he said roughly. “Well, pour it out. Won’t take a glass, I suppose, Glyddyr?”

“Oh, no, thanks. Not my favourite bin.”

“Thank your stars. Nice thing to be under the doctor’s hands. Hard, isn’t it? Regular piece of tyranny.”

“Oh, you’ll soon get over that, Mr Gartram. Temporary trouble.”

“Ah, I don’t know, my lad. Here, that’s more than usual, isn’t it, Sarah?”

“No, sir. Exactly the quantity.”

“Humph! Bah! Horrible!”

He had gulped the medicine down, and thrust the glass back on the tray.

“There, take it away,” he said.

The woman looked at him furtively, and slowly left the room.

“How I do hate to see a nurse in black,” exclaimed Gartram impatiently. “When a man’s ill, the woman who attends upon him ought to look bright and cheerful. That woman always gives me a chill.”

“Why not make her dress differently?”

“Can’t. Widow of that poor fellow who was killed.”

“Oh, yes; I remember.”

“Whim of Claude’s to have her here.”

“Yes, I know. Your old servant. Well, it was a graceful act on Miss Gartram’s part.”

“Of course; but it worries me.”

“The medicine makes you feel a little irritable, perhaps.”

“No, it does not, man. It’s tonic, and I’m taking chloral, which is calming, or I don’t know what I should do.”

“Chloral?” said Glyddyr.

“Yes; curse it – and bless it. I don’t know what I should do without it. Tell you what though. You must give me some more sails in your yacht. Cuts both ways?”

“I shall be most happy.”

“Yes; does me good and gives you pleasant opportunities, eh? I ought to be ashamed to say it, perhaps, but I am not. Confound that medicine! What a filthy taste it does leave in one’s mouth; quite makes one’s throat tingle, too.”

“When will you have another sail, sir?”

“Oh, I don’t know. When did we go last?”

“Tuesday.”

“To be sure; and this is Thursday. That medicine seems to confuse me a bit sometimes. Well, say this evening. By-the-bye, Glyddyr, that was a pleasant little idea of yours.”

“What idea, sir?”

“Quite startled my girl when that puss Mary drew her attention to it. How cunning you young fellows grow now-a-days.”

“I don’t quite grasp what you mean, sir.”

“Altering the name of the yacht.”

“Oh!”

“A very delicate little compliment, my lad, and it does you credit.”

“But Miss Gartram, sir?” said Glyddyr hurriedly; “is she in the drawing-room?”

“In the drawing-room? no,” said Gartram, with a strange display of irritability. “I told you when you first came that she had gone for a long walk up the glen with her cousin.”

“I beg your pardon, sir. I don’t think – ”

“Now, damn it all, Glyddyr, don’t you take to contradicting me; and perhaps by this time that confounded scoundrel Lisle has followed her.”

Glyddyr leaped from his seat.

“No, no; I don’t mean it,” said Gartram, calming down. “Lisle is not at home. Gone to London, I think, or I wouldn’t have let them go. There, my lad, don’t you take any notice of me,” he continued, holding out his hand; “it’s that medicine. I wish Asher was hung. So sure as I take a dose, I grow irritable and snappish, just as if a fit was threatening; but it keeps ’em off, eh?”

“I should say so, decidedly; and I wouldn’t dwell upon the possibility if I were you.”

“Well, curse it all, man, who does?” cried Gartram fiercely. “There, I beg your pardon. Go and meet the girls and come back, and we’ll have an early dinner, and then you can take us for a sail. Well, what the devil do you want?” he roared, as Sarah re-entered the room; “haven’t I just taken the cursed stuff?”

“Beg pardon, sir, a telegram.”

“Well, don’t stand staring like a black image. Give it to me.”

“For Mr Glyddyr, sir – the boy heard from the sailors at the pier that he was here, and brought it on.”

“Well, then, give it to him; and look here, I’m sure you must have given me too strong a dose this morning.”

“No, sir; Miss Claude measured it before she went. I took the bottle and glass to her.”

“Humph! Feels wrong somehow. Is it fresh stuff?”

“No, sir; the same.”

“Humph! Well, Glyddyr, good news?”

“Ye-es,” said Glyddyr, with a peculiar look in his eyes. “Only from my agent in town. You’ll excuse me now?”

“To be sure. Go round by the bridge and you’ll meet ’em. Dinner at five. Hi, Sarah! Mind that: five.”

“Yes, sir,” said the woman, and she glided like a black shadow out of the room after Glyddyr, who hurried along the terrace down to the beach, where he could light a cigar and smoke.

“I feel as if they were poisoning me amongst them,” said Gartram quite savagely. “Not trying to put me out of the way, are they, for the sake of my coin? How I do hate to see that woman going about like a great black cat. Bah! I’m as full of fancies as a child.”

Glyddyr lit his cigar and took out his telegram again and read it.

“My congratulations. Hope you put it on heavy. I did. Coming down. – Gellow.”

The curse which Glyddyr uttered was, metaphorically speaking, glowing enough to fuse the sand.

The next minute he began walking swiftly along under the towering granite cliffs, so as to get out of sight and hearing while he gave vent to his feelings, for he felt that he could not command himself.

The telegram meant so much.

“I shall have to kill that man before I have done. Yes; I shall have to kill that man,” said Glyddyr.

He started and looked up, for, plainly heard, some one seemed to repeat his words, “Kill that man.”

“Bah!” he cried impatiently, as he looked in the direction from which the sounds came, to find he was facing a huge wall of rock. “Frightened at echoes now!”