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.