“Nay, not settled!” cried the lady, with well-feigned gaiety. “We’ve yet to put the matter in writing, all in due form with the Judge to advise.” For Mistress Lloyd was no careless person, when it came to business, nor no mean reader of men. She placed her hand for a moment under Morgan’s jaw and felt his pulses surge in response to her touch; then she drew herself erect, reassured--as if the race were already won! They left the stable making their plans. An hour later, Judge Wing and the Colonel came into the Morgan’s stall. “My dear sir,” the Colonel was saying, “the folly of it! My daughter--and to ride for such a stake! But you know the girl. She has set her heart on it--I can do nothing. She winds me about her finger as if I were a piece of string, since her dear mother died. Our trouble is all my fault, what with mortgages and debts of honor, I am well paid for my follies--and, after all, this race is better than seeing her married to the author of all our unhappiness. Yet if she should not win!” “No need to worry over that, my friend,” the Judge said. “Morgan has already beaten this Silvertail horse.” “You don’t tell me!” “I recall the circumstances perfectly,” continued the Judge. “Silvertail[10] is a horse with a reputation; he was bred in St. Lawrence County, New York, and the Morgan once won a stake of fifty dollars in a race against him. It was in the life-time of Justin Morgan himself, and Master Morgan, sir, offered Silvertail two chances to redeem himself afterwards, in either walking or running, but the offer was declined. The world doesn’t know Morgan, but I do, and our race is already won!” The horse arched his crest at these words of praise. “Then all is said!” cried the Colonel, in a tone of relief. “My daughter is the finest horse-woman in Maryland, and that is no mean praise.” He came to Morgan and placed his hand lightly on the horse’s broad forehead, and seeing the Judge had turned away, spoke softly near the pricking ear. “Save her, Little Horse, and I will never touch another card!” Already Morgan could feel the finish of that race and see the flaxen-maned Silvertail toiling behind. He had little regard for a horse with light points (but which do well enough for mere beauty); deep in his heart his respect was for dark points, at once indicating possibilities of strength, docility and endurance--he had _proven_ these qualities and knew! That afternoon, the sun still high, he was led out to be exercised and prepared for the race. Then She came, and, mounting him, rode easily and gaily down the stretch of road to the blacksmith shop where the course, as usual, was marked out along the highway.