Now that was strange; and, what was stranger, this. I know he tried to say those words of his, 'It is my day'; and Harding turned to me, 'It is his day to-day, that's plain to see.' Right Royal nuzzled at me as he spoke. That staggered me. I felt that I should choke. It came so pat upon my unsaid thought, I asked him what he meant. He answered 'Naught. It only came into my head to say. But there it is. To-day's Right Royal's day.' That was the dream. I cannot put the glory With which it filled my being, in a story. No one can tell a dream. Now to confess. The dream made daily life a nothingness, Merely a mould which white-hot beauty fills, Pure from some source of passionate joys and skills. And being flooded with my vision thus, Certain of winning, puffed and glorious, Walking upon this earth-top like a king, My judgment went. I did a foolish thing, I backed myself to win with all I had. Now that it's done I see that it was mad, But still, I had to do it, feeling so. That is the full confession; now you know." SHE The thing is done, and being done, must be. You cannot hedge. Would you had talked with me Before you plunged. But there, the thing is done. HE Do not exaggerate the risks I run. Right Royal was a bad horse in the past, A rogue, a cur, but he is cured at last; For I was right, his former owner wrong, He is a game good chaser going strong. He and my lucky star may pull me through. SHE O grant they may; but think what's racing you, Think for a moment what his chances are Against Sir Lopez, Soyland, Kubbadar. HE You said you thought Sir Lopez past his best. I do, myself. SHE But there are all the rest. Peterkinooks, Red Ember, Counter Vair, And then Grey Glory and the Irish mare. HE She's scratched. The rest are giving me a stone. Unless the field hides something quite unknown I stand a chance. The going favours me. The ploughland will be bogland certainly, After this rain. If Royal keeps his nerve, If no one cannons me at jump or swerve, I stand a chance. And though I dread to fail, This passionate dream that drives me like a sail Runs in my blood, and cries, that I shall win. SHE Please Heaven you may; but now (for me) begin Again the horrors that I cannot tell, Horrors that made my childhood such a hell, Watching my Father near the gambler's grave Step after step, yet impotent to save. You do not know, I never let you know, The horror of those days of long ago When Father raced to ruin. Every night After my Mother took away the light For weeks before each meeting, I would see Horrible horses looking down on me Laughing and saying "We shall beat your Father." Then when the meetings came I used to gather Close up to Mother, and we used to pray. "O God, for Christ's sake, let him win to-day."