Belden began to be anxious. Instead of drooping, Pallid was improving. Had the poison failed? He superintended the care of his horse most sedulously. Each of the gentlemen had a groom at either end of the course. Dunstan grew excited with success. The match was a very even one. Good riding would determine it. Bob O’Link strolled up to Miss Anthrope’s carriage. “I think I’ll win the next heat, if you wish it,” said he languidly. Everyone was astonished at the next announcement of victory. Lalla Rookh first; Knockknees second; Pallid and Nosegay third. Blinders kept Nosegay up, but he was showing the effects of his stubborn struggles. Belden called Figgins. “By God!” said he, “you’ve cheated me; the horse goes better every time. I only got ahead this time by Link’s riding in.” “Hi dunno what hit means,” protested his accomplice. “Hif I’ve cheated you, Hi’ve cheated myself. Hevery penny of mine’s hon it. I ’ope ’e’ll drop next time.” But he did not drop. There was only half a head between him and Nosegay, but Pallid won the race and immense applause. He was victor in the first regular race ever run on the beach of Newport. Everyone felt that the occasion was important. For a moment Belden sat his horse like a man dazed. He had been falling a long time--at last he had come to the ground. He had backed Knockknees heavily, besides his bet with Granby. He could not pay. He knew that his Boston creditors would be down to attach his horses for Boston debts; Millard’s bill of three figures was lying on his table unpaid. “That damned Figgins will blow me,” he thought. He cursed Dunstan, winner of the race, winner of Diana. “She would have made me a better man,” thought he, with a groan of despair. “I shall have to retire for a while. Luckily, I’ve got hold of someone that I can invite, rather positively, to go along and pay expenses.” The thought nerved him, and he pulled himself together. He dismounted, gave his horse to his supplemental groom, and looking with a pleasant scowl around, walked up to Mrs. Budlong’s carriage. “I find it rather warm, now that the race is over,” said that person. “Will you get in and drive home with me?” So they drove off in very handsome style, admired by the admiring, envied by the envious. Mrs. Budlong complained of a headache, and kept her room the rest of the day. Wellabout drove Dunstan away. They stopped at Mr. Waddie’s. Diana would see her betrothed to-day. His heart sank at the announcement. There was, indeed, no hope; she must die; slowly, sadly, after many days of lingering adieux, and all that divine beauty be no more seen and felt to inspire and to consecrate her neighbour world. Mr. Waddy, Major Granby, and Peter Skerrett returned at ten that evening from dining at the Skibbereens’. Old Budlong met them in the hall, and they all went up to Mr. Waddy’s parlour for a cigar.