He whinneyed his tenderest sympathy, and maybe she would have told him more, but there came a sound of voices through the open door. “Ah, here you are, my daughter!” It was the Colonel speaking. “Come and greet our friend who has ridden all the way from Boston to see us. He says he has a plan whereby we may save our home!” Colonel Lloyd spoke hopefully, if a little doubtfully. Mistress Lloyd turned her face, flushed with emotion, and saw the Coxcomb, of whom Morgan had just caught scent. “A plan?” she questioned him, after a cold greeting. “You mean a price! ’Tis the same old one,” she said wearily, “I do not need to be told!” “My price,” he answered, shrugging his shoulders, “is offered out of friendship for your father and--” “You need not say!” she interrupted him, contemptuously. “’Tis not for _friendship_ you do kindnesses!” “You know my price,” he said, with calm insolence. “I have waited long,” he added, under his breath. “I will never pay it!” she replied with steady scorn, but so firmly Master Knickerbocker could not but believe her. The truth was, he wanted her to be his wife, and she, knowing what manner of man he was, had withstood his importunities for years. She would none of him. She held her head high. He shrugged his shoulders and raised his eyebrows. “As you will, Mistress! In one week more you and your father will be beggars, and living on the charity of your friends--unless?” He flicked his riding boot with his whip and looked at her with defiance. There was a short silence during which the lady grew very haughty, and then began to move away. “Come,” the Coxcomb spoke again, in a different tone, following after her. “You love a good race--you’re a Southerner--what say you to a _race_--_yourself and your home_ the stake? If you win I will cancel all these notes I hold against your father and accept your refusal to marry me as final. If I win, ah----” Mistress Lloyd silenced him with a movement; she was no longer the slip of a girl True knew at Hartford. Here was a mature character of spirit and dignity, yet not lacking in the sweetness of perfect womanhood. “I understand--you need not put the rest in words. I will _ride_ your race, _on this very horse_--and you?” “I have Silvertail with me,” he answered, and in an undertone added, “You will not have the ghost of a chance!” If Mistress Lloyd did not hear this, Morgan did, and switched his tail with satisfaction, moving his ears to and fro, to miss nothing. Silvertail! If horses could laugh aloud, Morgan would have laughed. He recalled a race six years before against Silvertail and it seemed almost a miracle that he should meet him again--of all the other horses in America--in so important an event. “I am not afraid of Silvertail,” came Mistress Lloyd’s brave reply. The Coxcomb looked at Morgan scornfully, not remembering how he, too, had been defeated by him years ago, at Chase’s Mill! “Then ’tis settled,” he said, confidently.