And, presently, came Colonel Sharpe himself, and with him Sir Edward Parkington. Pinkney had not failed the latter. His coat was of dark blue silk with embroidered cuffs, the breeches and stockings to match; his waistcoat, of white broadcloth, covered with gold lace. His hair was dressed and powdered, and tied in a bagwig behind. A solitaire was round his neck; a kevernois hat, decorated with gold buttons, lace and loop, was under his arm; and a long black rapier lifted the skirt of his coat. "My dear," said Colonel Sharpe, "I want to present Sir Edward Parkington, whom you have heard me mention, and for whom I bespeak your best consideration." Miss Stirling gave him her hand; Parkington bowed over it with inimitable grace. "Sir Edward is very lucky in his sponsor," she said; "his Excellency's wishes are our law. Mr. Paca, will you present Sir Edward to our friends." He met them all, then came back to her. "I think I saw you in the Row, one day last Autumn," he said. "You were riding with Captain Symington, of the Blues; I was riding with my Lord Baltimore." She shook her head. "I have not the honor of Captain Symington's acquaintance; it was not I." "It may be I am mistaken as to Symington, but I cannot be mistaken as to you; once seen is never to be forgotten." "Are you sure it was last Autumn?" she asked. "Perfectly, oh, perfectly!" "Then, you must guess again," she said. "I have not ridden in the Row for a year. I spent all of last Autumn in the North." "But I saw you somewhere, sometime," he insisted. "What matters it?" she asked; "since you see me now.--There, the second heat is starting!" This time there were but three--Britannia, Merry Andrew and Terror had been distanced--and, again, the three ran close together until they reached the stretch, for the last time. Then Trial came away, and, under a tremendous drive, won by length from Figaro, with Chester third. "The favorite seems outclassed," said Parkington. "The weight is just a trifle too much, I fancy." "You do not know Figaro," said Mr. Paca. "I will wager you five pistoles, that he gets the next heat." "Taken. The weight will tell more upon him the next time." "Again, you do not know Figaro!" laughed Paca. "It will tell less--or, rather, it will tell on the others more. Figaro has lost two heats, before, but he never lost the third." "Mr. Paca says that Figaro has raced in England, at Carlisle and Preston three years ago, and won everything," said Miss Stirling. "Did you know it?" "Great Heavens!" exclaimed Parkington. "This is not _that_ Figaro?" "The same," said Mr. Paca. "I would never have wagered against him, had I known it. However, there is always a chance of the horse falling dead in the stretch, or of something else happening; and past records never win the next race." "I will lay you another five pistoles, if you wish," offered Mr. Worthington. "And I!--And I!" came from around him.