'Jimmy,' called the latter quickly, when the horses showed again at the end curve as they came round on the winning post for their first turn, Bronzewing fourth and ousted from her inner place by Blue-and-white, who was making the pace over the straightest bit in the course; 'get me all you can from them on the mare--in Simians Gad! I should like to let those fellows in.' 'But she is behind, ever so far behind,' interrupted Rose, divided between regret and relief that she would not have to watch a reckless tussle at the end, with its thousand possibilities of mishap. 'There isn't a beast near her at the jumps, and if Gordon--he's saving her now, Miss Tweedie--gets the inner lap again top and bottom; it is as near a moral as racing ought to be. Lord! how she took that water! Well done, little 'un, well done!' He was almost as excited as George, who was craning forward to catch a last glimpse of the trail of bright colours skimming round the farthest turn behind some trees. 'By Jove! he is in again, and how Green is riding him! Stick to it, man, stick to it! Game little lady! not an inch to spare, and waltzed over it as if she had the floor to herself. They mean Blue-and-white to win; that's clear. Ah! now it's on the straight! Now Green will shoot! H'm--not much to spare in that cross. Green's in--that's an end. Blue-and-white wins, unless he makes a mistake.' Major Davenant put down his field-glasses with a sigh. On they came; the Red-hoop and the Green almost neck and neck, close in to the posts. Keeping pace half a length behind in the clear, Blue-and-white saving breath for his awkward beast at the last hedge; behind them, a trail of colours like a pennant streaming backwards. Now they are at the sharpest corner, and a murmur rises as Bronzewing shoots ahead, making the Green give way. 'Hullo, what's that?' cries the Major; 'a foul? Did any one see it?' There was no time for an answer as yet. Green, seeing his work over, slacks to pace, and there is nothing but an easy hedge and a couple of hundred yards galloping between the Crimson-hoop, Blue-and-white and the winning post. Inch by inch Bronzewing gives way before the swinging stride of the Waler, but she presses him hard, too hard for the last fence, easy as it is. They rise almost at the same second. It is the mare's last chance against those longer, clumsier legs, and she gains it. Blue-and-white sways in his saddle as his beast, touching the rail, staggers, jumps short, and rolls over easily. Green, half a length behind, is alongside in a second, but a second too late; for Lewis Gordon wins by that second, and no more. Rose, who for the last minute has been completely blinded by the beating of her own heart, was left alone amid feminine congratulations, the men having gone to offer theirs in person to the winner. 'Oh, Jimmy, my boy! I wish I'd said thousands, mourned Major Davenant as he passed his pal in the outer tent.