A sudden silence fell, more terrifying than the thunder of ten thousand voices. The leading bunch of horses was within a hundred yards of the winning post now. Paulus led, then fell back suddenly challenged by a rank outsider, Ambuscade. Neck and neck they ran, first one, then the other, getting the advantage. Rupert was conscious of Ruby clinging to his arm. He was conscious of the great crowd on the hill, of the crowd surrounding him, swaying to and fro; of the perfume of the girl’s hair—the girl he loved; the colours of the jockeys as they lay almost flat on the horses’ backs. The race was over now. The winning-post was reached. Thunder-clap after thunder-clap of human voices. "Paulus wins! ... Paulus! Paulus! Paulus!" Rupert was shouting at the top of his voice as he was carried by the crowd he knew not whither, Ruby clinging to his arm. He waved his hat in the air and he laughed as he shouted. He was saved, and for a moment he forgot all he had learned. He could not control himself, he just shouted with the crowd, his crowd. Still the excitement was not over. There were a few moments more of tension until the numbers went up and they saw on the telegraph board that Paulus had won by a short head. Rupert found himself standing alone at the bottom of the enclosure. He wiped the perspiration from his face. Ruby had disappeared—yet a moment ago she had been hanging on his arm. He heard the "All right" called and he realised she had gone to draw the money from the bookmaker. After a while he saw her hemmed in by the crowd near the rails. He fought his way to her and in answer to his queries she showed him her purse. "Come along, let’s go back," he whispered. "There’s nothing else to wait for now." Once clear of the crowd they walked up the hill to the railway station, caught the first train returning to London, and drove straight to Rupert’s rooms. A telegram was waiting for him on the table. He picked it up and gave it to Ruby. "Open it, you always bring me luck," he laughed. "It’s the result of the exam. I told one of my pals to wire me. Still, I don’t care twopence now——" He broke off as Ruby tore open the little buff envelope and looked at the message. The next moment she had dropped it and taken him in her arms, heedless now of the damage to her French toilet. Her black, sweetly-scented hair brushed his face, her soft cheek was pressed against his own. She mothered him as if he were her child instead of her lover. He had failed. "What does it matter?" he cried with bravado. "I’m rich now. I can pay my bills; we can have a jolly good time before I go home." "But your father, Rupert?" she whispered. "Don’t you remember—all you told me about him, his dreams, his ambitions for you? Oh! don’t think I’m a prig, but he’ll be disappointed, so disappointed. I think I’d rather you had passed your exam, and lost your money——"