Jack Harding had gone to the races chiefly to dog the steps of Lord Kelwin; so, if the Irishman had been inclined to speak lightly of Esther Bright again, he would have had to reckon with him. Kelwin felt himself shadowed by the cowboy, and a great fear took possession of him. As he dismounted, his scant clothing was wet, and clung to his person. The race had not improved his temper any. To be beaten, and beaten by a woman, and that woman an American cowlass, was the very limit of what he could endure from "raw America" that day. He swore to the right of him; he swore to the left of him. Then glancing over the crowd, he discovered the Clayton party overlooking the scene. John Clayton, ignorant of the episode at the saloon, was beckoning him to join them. Lord Kelwin was about to do so, when Jack Harding stepped up to him and said: "Don't you dare enter that woman's presence!" Lord Kelwin placed his hand on his gun, saying: "Oh, you needn't give me any of your impudent American advice, you mongrel cur!" "Never mind what I am," said Jack; "that woman is one of the truest, purest souls on earth. You are not fit to enter her presence. You have _me_ to deal with, remember." His great eyes flashed upon the Irishman, who quailed before him. "Oh, you needn't be so high and mighty," said Lord Kelwin, changing his tactics. "I don't care a blank about her, anyway. She's only an American working woman, an Indian at that." "So this is nobility," Jack said to himself. "Nobility! What is it to be _noble_?" The race was followed by a dance in one of the saloons, and the lowest of the low were there. At four o'clock in the morning, those sober enough went to their homes; the others stretched out anywhere, in a deep drunken sleep; and pay-day and its pleasuring were over. Men and women awakened to find their money gone; and for the first time in years, they felt shame. Sunday came. The hour of the service drew near. Esther Bright had thought out what she would say that day about the Race for Life. But when she rose to speak, she had a strange experience. All she had thought to say, vanished; and before her mind's eye, she saw the words, "The wages of sin is death." There were perhaps a hundred people before her in the timber (where the services were now held),--men and women among them, who, the day before, had forgotten they were created in the image of God, and who had groveled to the level of beasts. These men, these women, had come to this spot this day, why, they did not know. Why Esther Bright said the things she said that day, _she_ did not know, either. All she knew was that the words came, and that there were men and women before her whom she must help.